CHILD 


THE  HEART   OF   A  CHILD 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •    SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON    •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 

BEING    PASSAGES    FROM    THE 
EARLY  LIFE  OF  SALLY  SNAPE 
LADY  KIDDERMINSTER 


BY 

FRANK  DANBY 

AUTHOR   OF   "PIGS   IN   CLOVER,"   "THE   SPHINX'S 
LAWYER,"   "BACCARAT,"   ETC. 


"  Till  this  one  change  hath  found  us, 
The  hours  their  glass  forget : 
The  old  arms  linger  round  us, 
The  child  heart  holds  us  yet." 


THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

1909 

All  rightt  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1908, 
BT  THE  MACMILLA5T  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  March,  1908.     Reprinted 
April,  twice;  May,  twice  ;  June,  July, August,  September,  Octobei, 
1908;  June,  1909. 


XorfoooS 

J.  fl.  Cashing  Co.  —Berwick  &,  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 


2229112 


THE   HEART  OF  A  CHILD 


CHAPTER   I 

IN  Angel  Gardens,  Limehouse,  the  spring  sun  had  less 
opportunity  than  anywhere  else  in  the  whole  of  London. 
It  was  a  narrow,  filthy,  ill-paved  cul-de-sac.  On  either 
side  of  its  foul  gutters  were  tottering,  low  tenement  houses, 
the  fronts  bulging,  the  broken  windows  filled  in  with  rags 
or  paper,  the  roofs  rotting.  There  was  a  swarming  life  of 
women  and  children  on  doorsteps,  and  in  the  roadway  — 
ragged,  wretched,  appallingly  dirty.  Brooding  over  all 
was  that  close,  oppressive  stench  which  tells  of  dirt  and 
poverty. 

Yet  here,  on  that  May  day,  ten  years  ago,  the  organ- 
grinder  turned  his  tune,  and,  with  shoeless  feet,  or  feet 
worse  than  shoeless,  in  men's  boots,  carpet  slippers, 
gaping,  ragged  gear  of  every  description,  the  draggle- 
tailed  children  danced.  And  they  danced  well,  now  a 
reel,  now  a  polka,  now  a  valse,  not  the  latest  fashion- 
able variety  perhaps,  but  always  in  strict  time,  with  never 
a  step  missed,  and  a  sense  of  gaiety  and  abandonment, 
amazing  to  the  district  visitor,  new  to  her  work,  and 
already  heart-sick  with  what  she  had  seen  and  heard  that 
spring  afternoon. 

On  a  heap  of  rags  on  the  floor  in  the  first  house  she 
had  entered,  it  was  the  first  entry  on  the  list  given  to  her, 
there  lay  a  dying  woman.  One  saw  the  skull  behind  the 

B  I 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

emaciation  of  her  yellow,  tortured  face.  Three  or  four 
infant  children  stared  weariedly,  and  cried  fitfully,  during 
the  lady's  short  visit.  But  the  invalid  welcomed  her  visitor 
quite  warmly.  She  said  she  could  not  move  about  much, 
and  she  liked  a  bit  of  a  gossip.  Would  the  lady  come  and 
sit  over  by  her  bed  ?  There  was  a  bit  of  a  packing-case 
that  would  do  nicely  for  a  chair.  Like  all  her  class, 
she  had  been  quite  ready  to  talk  about  herself.  She  said  she 
had  nine  children  altogether.  The  eldest  was  twelve,  he 
worked  at  a  shop,  a  half-timer,  he  was  very  lucky  to  get 
the  place ;  a  good  boy,  he  brought  his  half-crown  home 
every  week,  "  as  reg'lar,  as  reg'lar."  Jenny,  she  helped 
too,  although  she  was  only  eleven,  door-stepping;  many 
and  many  a  morning  she  earned  her  fourpence  before 
she  went  to  school.  And  then  her  husband's  club  had 
come  forward,  she  went  on :  "  he  was  a  stevedore  before  he 
was  killed" : 

"They  give  me  something  still,  his  club  does,  there's 
many  worse  off  than  me.  And  we  got  a  good  neighbour. 
Since  I  can't  move  my  legs,  she  comes  in,  most  every  morn- 
ing, and  'elps  with  the  children.  She  brings  'em  little 
things  too." 

" '  The  pain '  ?  Oh !  yes,  'tis  pretty  bad,  but  lying 
here  like  this  it  don't  matter  so  much,  'aving  so  much 
done  for  me,  and  the  children  so  good,  and  everybody  so 
kind ;  I  mustn't  grumble  at  a  bit  of  pain." 

Her  strained  eyes  and  grey  mouth  made  the  pathos 
of  her  gratitude  acute. 

The  district  visitor  interviewed  the  good  neighbour,  who 
lived  in  the  attic  overhead,  and  lately  had  two  of  Mrs. 
Crowe's  children  in  to  sleep  with  her.  This  row  of  houses 
must  have  been  built  a  hundred  years  ago.  They  were 
not  on  the  usual  London  plan,  they  ran  back  a  good  way, 
but  were  only  on  two  floors,  incredibly  rotten  and  insani- 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

tary.  They  had  been  condemned  over  and  over  again, 
but  still  stood. 

Mrs.  Evans'  attic  was  very  clean,  the  bed  had  a  patch' 
work  quilt,  there  was  a  bit  of  looking-glass  nailed  to  the 
wall,  also  a  couple  of  texts.  She  was  not  on  the  list  from 
the  Charity  Organization  Society ;  it  was  only  to  ask  about 
Mrs.  Crowe  that  Ursula  Kugeley  went  up.  But  when  she 
had  put  her  questions  and  received  her  answers,  something 
prompted  her  to  say  a  few  appreciative  words.  Miss  Kugeley 
said  she  hoped  the  society  she  represented  would  do  some- 
thing for  Mrs.  Crowe  and  her  family,  it  was  a  very  rich 
society.  But  she  realized  that  whilst  she  was  hoping,  and 
the  Society  had  been  making  inquiries,  Mrs.  Evans  worked 
quietly  and  continuously  for  her  poor  neighbour. 

"  Lor'  bless  you,  'tis  nothing,  what  I  do.  Lots  of  folks 
do  more  than  me.  The  poor  thing's  dying  of  cancer,  the 
pain's  awful,  I  know  that.  My  mother  died  of  it,  you  could 
hear  her  shrieks  two  streets  off.  Mrs.  Crowe,  she  don't 
make  a  murmur.  I  never  see  such  patience,  never.  Glad 
I  am  if  I  can  help  a  bit.  Me  ?  No !  I  don't  want  no  'elp." 

All  the  time  she  was  talking,  her  busy  fingers  were  plying 
her  knitting  needles. 

"  I  can  earn  a  good  fourteen  shillings  a  week,  if  I  keep  at 
it,  and  if  I  spare  her  two  or  three  out  of  that,  it  won't 
hurt  me.  Save!  I  never  was  one  to  save.  I  don't  'old 
with  it  myself.  Meanness,  I  call  it.  I'd  rather  go  on  the 
parish  when  I  couldn't  work  no  more,  than  grudge  me 
neighbour  a  bite  or  sup  when  I  'ad  it.  And  there  is  One 
who'll  look  after  me,"  she  added,  quite  unaffectedly,  with 
deep  conviction. 

Ursula  Kugeley  was  learning  more  than  she  was  teach- 
ing, receiving  more  than  she  was  giving.  Great  lessons 
of  patience,  generosity,  resignation  were  being  given  her. 

The  second  name  on  her  list  was  Tom  Bolding.  Tom 

3 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Bolding  occupied  the  back-floor  room  next  door.  It  was 
almost  always  dark  in  Tom  Bolding's  room,  for  the 
big  new  houses  had  been  built  so  close.  Angel  Gar- 
dens had  been  long  condemned;  architect  and  builder 
were  within  their  right  in  concluding  that  the  order  for 
its  destruction  had  been  obeyed.  There  was  an  old  cess- 
pool right  under  Tom  Bolding's  window,  but,  as  the  window 
was  never  opened,  that  was  little  inconvenience. 

Tom  Bolding,  when  he  rose  from  the  pallet  bed,  and 
greeted  Ursula  in  a  strange  voice,  revealed  himself  a  tall, 
gaunt  man ;  she  had  heard  his  short  painful  breath  even 
before  she  opened  the  door.  One  could  see  the  skeleton, 
too,  in  his  fleshless  face,  his  eyes  were  caverns  behind 
the  high  cheek  bones.  It  seemed  as  if  it  were  from  a 
cavern,  too,  that  the  hoarse  voice  came. 

"  Be  pleased  to  come  in,  marm,"  he  said,  panting 
politely.  "Polly,  get  the  lady  a  chair." 

Polly  and  her  sister  had  each  a  broken-backed  chair, 
Polly's  was  given  up  with  mute  obedience.  They  had  not 
time  to  waste  on  a  visitor,  they  were  making  potato  sacks ; 
two  half-naked  children,  hardly  human.  A  heap  of  sacks 
lay  in  a  corner,  and  on  that  heap  Polly  sat,  when  she  had 
given  up  her  chair,  so  that  she  might  go  on  with  her  work 
without  delay.  They  never  looked  up  during  the  conversa- 
tion that  followed  ;  their  eyes  never  left  the  coarse  sacking, 
the  rough  thread,  the  large  needles. 

"They  can  get  through  thirty  in  a  day,  if  they  don't 
'ave  to  go  to  school,"  said  the  father  proudly,  in  that 
curious  voice  of  his.  "And  we've  had  luck,  mum,  for 
Sukey  has  a  bad  leg;  show  the  lady  yer  leg,  Suke." 

It  was  a  mass  of  festering  sore.  Ursula  turned  from  it 
shuddering,  but  it  seemed  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
Sukey,  who  covered  it  up  again  as  well  as  she  was  able 
with  her  short  scant  skirt,  and  went  on  with  her  sewing. 

4 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  And  Polly,  'ere,  is  only  just  off  the  measles.  Yer  eyes 
are  still  bad,  ain't  they,  Poll  ?  They  get  fourpence  a  dozen 
for  sewing  them  sacks,  though  of  course  the  thread  and 
things  come  expensive.  Yet  it  all  'elps.  Mother  works 
in  a  factory,  she  got  'em  the  job." 

He  paused  to  cough,  a  truly  awful  task.  The  oily  per- 
spiration stood  on  his  forehead,  his  whole  frame  shook. 
He  had  to  sit  down  on  the  bed  before  it  was  half  over  ;  in 
the  end  he  was  lying  quite  prone.  The  children  went 
on  working  as  if  nothing  were  happening,  no  tragedy  being 
enacted  before  their  eyes. 

But  Ursula  Eugeley's  were  blinded  with  tears.  She 
looked  about  the  room  for  medicine,  wine,  anything  to 
alleviate  the  suffering  before  her.  There  was  only  half  a 
loaf  of  stale  bread  on  a  shelf,  beside  an  empty  bottle. 
She  could  do  nothing  but  wait.  In  ten  minutes  or  so  the 
paroxysm  had  passed ;  but  then  the  hoarse  voice  had  dulled 
to  a  hoarser,  more  painful  whisper. 

"I'm  all  right.  It's  consumption  of  the  throat,  I'm 
bound  to  cough." 

"But  ought  you  not  to  be  in  a  hospital?  Can't  any- 
thing be  done  for  you  ?  "  she  asked,  pitifully. 

"They  don't  like  cases  in  a  'orspital  as  can  only  end 
one  way.  I  was  in  the  London  'orspital  six  weeks,  and  in 
Brompton  three  months.  Oh !  I've  'ad  a  lot  done  for  me 
one  way  or  another.  But  I'd  rather  be  at  'ome  now. 
There  was  medicine  in  that  there  bottle  you  was  shakin' 
I'd  have  had  it  filled  again,  if  I  could  ha'  got  out.  The 
doctor  said  I  could  have  it  as  often  as  I  wanted,  if  I  went 
for  it  myself.  But  it's  a  long  step.  I've  been  a  sailor, 
marm,  so  I'm  not  afraid  of  goin'  aloft.  Don't  you  cry  for 
me."  Ursula  was  proving  herself  quite  unfit  for  her  work. 
"Cheer  up,  my  hearty.  There's  many  worse  off  than  me." 

She  had  thought  it  impossible,  but  when  she  got  upstairs, 

5 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

to  the  other  attic,  over  that  of  the  consumptive  sailor's 
home,  she  had  to  admit  that  Tom  Bolding  was  right. 

This  was  the  birthplace  of  Sally  Snape.  And  as  Sally 
Snape's  career  was  meteoric,  as  she  made  history,  and  the 
fortunes  of  several  illustrated  papers,  to  say  nothing  of 
one  or  two  great  complexion  specifics,  as  she  was  for  some 
time,  at  least,  of  considerably  more  interest  to  the  public 
than  royalty,  the  favourite  for  the  Derby,  or  the  latest 
railway  murder,  it  may  be  well  to  describe  her  first  home 
in  detail. 

The  room,  as  Ursula  Rugeley  saw  it  on  that  May  day  in 
1899,  was  a  sloping  roofed  attic,  about  6  ft.  10  by  8  ft.  4. 
The  plaster  had  fallen  away  from  the  ceiling,  and  the 
damp,  mouldering  rafters  were  broken  and  jagged.  More 
than  half  the  room  was  taken  up  by  an  iron  bedstead, 
covered  with  rags  indescribably  filthy.  From  this  bed 
issued  those  peculiarly  loud  snores  that  indicate  a  drunken 
sleep.  And  there  were  other  signs  that  Sally  Snape's 
father  had  been  indulging  in  an  orgy,  signs  that  must  be 
imagined,  not  related. 

At  the  window  was  a  wooden  table,  that  and  the  bed 
formed  almost  all  the  furniture  of  the  room.  There  was  a 
little  more  light  here  than  in  the  downstairs  room,  but 
no  hint  of  sun.  Through  the  broken  pane  came  the 
effluvia  of  the  cesspool,  it  filled  the  room  like  a  yellow 
fog.  There  were  trousers  on  the  table  by  this  window, 
a  steaming  flat-iron,  and  other  insignia  of  tailoring. 

Morning,  day,  and  night,  for  ten  years  or  more,  Sally 
Snape's  mother  had  sat  at  that  dirty  window,  with  its 
broken  panes,  through  which  came  occasional  sounds  of 
fighting,  brawling,  cursing,  with  always  that  thick  effluvia ; 
there  she  had  sat  and  stitched  and  stitched  and  stitched. 
Mr.  Snape  was  a  dock  labourer,  habitually  out  of  work, 
but  with  a  thirst  that  was  never  idle.  And  Sally,  too,  had 

6 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

always  had  a  good  appetite.  This  patient,  weary  figure 
at  the  window  never  stopped,  never  idled,  never  questioned. 
She  just  stitched  and  stitched.  Jim  had  his  beer,  and  Sally's 
appetite  was  fed.  Neither  of  them  was  consciously  grate- 
ful, and  Jim  always  knocked  her  about  when  he  was  drunk. 
He  did  not  mean  any  harm  by  it,  but  he  was  a  big  man 
and  chose  this  form  of  exercise.  Janey  Snape  always  said 
wearily,  when  questioned,  that  "  he  was  a  good  'usband  to 
her  when  he  wasn't  in  the  drink."  And  it  must  be  left  at 
that. 

When  Ursula  Rugeley  knocked  at  the  door,  and  after  re- 
peated trials  met  with  no  response,  she  turned  the  handle 
gingerly.  The  cesspool  met  her,  as  it  were,  on  the  thresh- 
old. It  turned  her  sick,  faint,  dizzy,  and  there  was  a 
mist  before  her  eyes.  Then  the  stillness  struck  through 
her,  a  curious,  cold  stillness.  She  found  herself  shuddering, 
already  frightened. 

For  once  Mrs.  Snape  was  not  working.  She  was  seated 
at  the  table,  surely  enough,  but  her  head  had  fallen  for- 
ward, and  there  was  a  steady  drip,  drip,  on  to  the  floor, 
as  if  the  rain  were  coming  in.  But  there  was  no  rain,  and 
the  drip  was  slow,  thick,  horrible.  Jim's  boot,  a  hob- 
nailed boot,  had  fallen  where  it  had  been  flung,  but  not 
before  it  had  hit  its  mark. 

The  work,  still  in  Janey's  hands,  was  wet  too,  Ursula 
saw  that.  Drip  .  .  .  drip  .  .  .  drip  .  .  . 

The  new  district  visitor  stood  sick  and  transfixed  for 
a  second,  then  fled  incontinently  down  the  rickety  wooden 
stairs  to  the  street  door  and  the  air. 

Something  she  must  do,  she  knew  that,  and  immediately. 
Police  must  be  summoned,  help  must  be  secured.  But 
she  was  sick  and  faint.  Air  must  be  had  first  —  air,  she 
could  not  collect  her  faculties. 

But  the  air  was  almost  as  foul  in  the  alley  as  in  the 

7 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

horrible  house.     And  the  organ  still  ground  out  its  gay 
discordant  tune. 

In  the  gleam  of  sunshine  that  lay  so  strangely  on  the 
slime  of  the  roadway,  one  figure  now  danced  alone.  All 
the  other  children  had  stopped  to  watch  Sally.  Sally, 
with  her  red  hair  showing  rough  through  her  crownless 
hat,  her  torn  blue  school  pinafore  exhibiting  her  dirty 
cotton  dress,  one  foot  protruding  from  the  worn  elastic 
of  an  old  kid  boot,  the  other  with  the  toes  as  bare  as  the 
day  it  came  into  the  world,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  was 
performing,  for  the  benefit  of  the  organ-grinder  and  her 
companions,  an  improvised  version  of  the  cake-walk. 
From  what  low  music-hall  she  had  derived  her  inspira- 
tion it  is  impossible  to  say.  But  it  was  obvious  that 
the  leering  Italian  at  the  organ,  and  the  idle  men  and 
women  on  the  doorsteps,  found  the  entertainment  attrac- 
tive. Sally's  ugliness,  for  in  those  days  and  in  that  quarter 
green  eyes  and  red  hair,  an  upturned  nose  and  a  pallid 
complexion,  were  not  considered  beautiful,  did  not  impair 
their  enjoyment.  Even  then,  and  in  this  audience,  there  was 
appreciation  of  Sally's  freedom  of  movement  and  of  her  lithe- 
ness.  There  was  grace  in  her  eccentric  gestures.  Even  the 
most  vulgar  movements  of  that  vulgar  dance  —  legs  bowed, 
stomach  protruding,  head  back  —  were  instinct  with  it. 

Ursula,  struggling  for  her  self-possession,  mechanically 
watched  the  dancer.  The  sun  on  Sally's  rough  mop  of 
hair,  through  her  disreputable  hat,  made  a  note  of  red 
gold  in  the  grey  and  murk  of  the  roadway.  Ursula  lis- 
tened, as  if  in  a  dream,  to  the  jeers  and  comments  of 
the  other  children;  she  saw  the  nodding  head,  the  ap- 
proving grin,  the  encouragement  of  the  swarthy  Italian 
organ-grinder. 

It  was  the  free  use  of  the  Englishman's  favourite  ex- 
pletive that  roused  her. 

8 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  It's  all  b y  fine,"  Jim  Bates  said,  "  but  he's  follerin' 

'er,  she  ain't  follerin'  'im ;  any  one  could  dance  .  .  ." 

"  Bloody ! " 

Yes,  that  was  it ;  it  was  blood  she  had  seen !  The  drip, 
drip  of  it  was  still  in  her  ears,  the  sickening  odour  in  her 
nostrils.  She  had  thought  she  must  faint;  full  conscious- 
ness was  hardly  yet  with  her. 

By  some  strange  process  of  memory  she  associated 
Sally's  red  head  with  the  scene  she  had  left  upstairs.  It 
was  due  to  the  alertness  of  her  ocular  memory,  but  she 
did  not  realize  that.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  prone  head 
with  the  hidden  gash  had  the  same  hair,  but  one  side  was 
matted  and  dark.  .  .  . 

Ursula  caught  hold  of  the  nearest  boy  : 

"Get  a  doctor,  get  a  doctor,  will  you,  or  the  police, 
quickly;  there  has  been  an  accident.  Help  is  wanted 
upstairs,  go,  go  quick,"  she  stammered.  She  felt  her 
incompetence.  She  had  done  nothing;  but  it  was  all 
she  could  do  to  keep  upright.  The  horrible  incongruity 
of  that  dancing  figure,  and  the  loud  gay  grinding  of  the 
organ  confused  her  further.  She  soon  had  the  crowd 
round  her,  curious,  interested,  full  of  suggestions,  baiting 
her.  It  was  difficult  for  her  to  make  them  share  her 
horror. 

"'Oo  is  it?  'Oo  is  it?"  was  the  universal  question. 
And  when,  at  last,  she  gasped  out  the  required  information, 
Jim  Bates  tumbled  head  over  heels  backwards,  twice,  in 
the  exuberance  of  his  spirits. 

"Wot  a  lark!  Sally  Snape's  mother.  Wot  a  spree! 
Sal,  Sal,  yer  father's  bashed  yer  mother's  'ead  in  .  .  ." 

But  Sally  heard  nothing,  she  was  absorbed  in  her  dance, 
immersed  in  the  organ  man's  approval,  realizing  the  sympa- 
thetic quickness  of  his  grind. 

"She  won't  stop  dancing  till  the  tune's  off,  trust  'er, 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

miss,"  Jim  said,  not  without  admiration,  when  he  had 
righted  himself  from  his  second  somersault.  "  Sally,  'ere, 
Sally,  do  you  'ear  ?  " 

But  Sally  only  grinned,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth. 
Those  teeth  that,  later,  were  to  smile  in  London's  face  from 
the  famous  poster,  were  as  perfect  in  Sally's  thirteenth  year 
as  they  were  in  her  zenith. 

"  Get  along  .  .  ." 

She  hadn't  breath  for  more,  she  was  pattering  now. 
She  knew  she  ought  to  have  clogs,  but  she  was  making  as 
much  noise  as  she  was  able  with  her  flopping  boot.  She 
had  no  time  for  Jim  Bates'  jaw,  and  the  district  visitor 
was  naught  to  her;  it  wasn't  often  she  got  a  chance  of 
enjoying  'erself  like  this.  She  wasn't  goin'  to  leave  off, 
not  'er!  Some  bally  school-board  missus,  she  supposed. 
They  was  always  bothering  along,  and  askin'  why  she  was 
still  in  the  third  standard.  'Orrid  old  creature!  Sally 
was  panting,  out  of  breath,  but  had  held  out  up  to  the 
last  turn  of  the  organ,  when  Ursula  laid  a  gentle  hand  upon 
her  shoulder : 

"  Is  it  true  you  are  Sally  Snape,  my  dear  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I'm  Sally  Snape  right  enough  —  I  don't  know  about 
bein' f  my  dear,' "  she  retorted  rudely.  "  Wot  d'yer  want  ?  " 

She  shook  off  the  gentle  hand,  shrugged  up  one  shoulder 
in  avoidance.  She  felt  that  third  standard  question  was 
going  to  be  raised.  Already  she  was  growing  sullen  and 
silent  in  anticipation.  The  organ-grinder  was  moving 
off,  her  companions  were  unusually  silent,  and  the  flat- 
ness of  reaction  had  seized  her.  She  hated  the  district 
visitor. 

"I've  just  been  up  to  your  room  .  .  ." 

Ursula  wanted  to  break  it  to  her  gently,  to  break  it  to 
her  before  Jim  Bates  came  back  with  doctor  and  police- 
men, and  the  hastily  summoned  help. 

10 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Yer  father's  drunk,  and  yer  mother's  dyin',"  inter- 
rupted one  of  the  children,  eagerly. 

For  that  was  how  they  broke  bad  news  in  Angel  Gardens. 

Sally  turned  on  her  savagely : 

"You  shut  up,  Georgie  Manders.  My  father  ain't 
drunker  than  yours;  that's  if  he's  stole  enough  to  get 
drunk  on.  .  .  ." 

"  Stole,  did  you  say  stole  ?  " 

In  a  second  the  two  little  girls  were  facing  each  other 
with  eyes  on  fire  and  cheeks  aflame.  The  first  and  the 
second  sounding  slap  came  before  Ursula  could  interfere. 
After  that  they  flew  at  each  other  like  two  grown-up 
viragoes.  Sally  had  all  the  best  of  it,  her  litheness  and 
agility  stood  her  in  good  stead  here  also.  Georgie,  blinded 
with  blows,  qxiickly  delivered,  crying,  slapping  blindly 
in  the  air,  was  already  beaten,  like  all  Sally's  enemies, 
when  Johnny  Doone  separated  them.  He  had  enjoyed 
the  fun  as  long  as  there  was  any  proper  fight  in  it,  but 
when  he  saw  that  Georgie  was  done,  and  that  Sally's  eyes 
were  beginning  to  show  red,  and  vicious,  he  interfered; 
but  it  was  not  a  popular  interference. 

"Let  'em  fight  it  out.  Go  on,  Sal;  go  on,  Georgie; 
scratch  her  b y  eyes  out." 

Johnny  Doone  was  a  big,  heavy  lout  of  fourteen;  he 
made  no  more  of  thrusting  a  quieting  elbow  into  one 
quivering  face  than  he  did  of  seizing  the  other  combatant 
and  shaking  her  like  a  kitten.  Ursula's  speechless  horror 
amused  him,  but  there  had  been  enough  of  it  —  "  they  was 
only  gals ;  besides,  she  ought  to  go  'ome." 

"  Shet  yer  'ead,  the  two  of  you.  You'll  have  the  beaks 
here  in  a  minute.  Jim  Bates  has  gone  for  them.  Get 
along  'ome,  Sally." 

"  I   shan't,  I   shan't !     I'll   'it   'er !     I'll    give  'er  wot's 

wot !     I'll  tear  her  b y  eyes  out !     I'll  .  .  ." 

ii 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Ursula  put  her  hands  to  her  ears. 

"Don't  yer  mind  'er,  marm,  she'll  conie  right  enough, 
when  I've  quieted  'er  down." 

He  shook  her  like  a  rat.  She  was  as  thin  and  small 
and  lithe  as  a  rat,  and  she  showed  as  much  fight,  screaming, 
belabouring  him  with  her  little  fists,  trying  to  get  her 
teeth  into  his  hands. 

He  seemed  to  enjoy  handling  her.  He  could  at  any 
time  in  the  struggle  have  done  what  he  did  in  the  end, 
namely,  taken  her  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  and  pushed 
her  before  him  upstairs,  even  whilst  she  was  shrieking 
that  she  didn't  care  who  was  drunk,  or  wot  any  one  was 
doing,  or  wot  anybody  said;  she  wouldn't  go  'ome,  she 
wouldn't  go  'ome,  she  wouldn't  go  'ome ! 

He  used  her  as  a  battering  ram  with  which  to  thrust 
the  door  open.  Other  children  and  neighbours  crowded 
behind  them  now,  up  the  wooden  stairs,  aflame  with 
curiosity. 

Johnny  and  Sally  were  the  first  to  enter. 

Ursula  waited  behind  them  in  the  street,  waited  for  that 
help  which  seemed  so  long  in  coming. 

Sally's  shrieks  and  bad  language  were  quieted  all  at 
once.  In  the  room  the  dullness  and  stillness  seemed 
to  have  become  more  definite.  That  figure  at  the  table 
had  surely  shrunk,  the  head  had  fallen  more  hopelessly 
forward.  It  was  the  breath  of  death  that  made  the  appal- 
ling silence.  The  dirty  little  room  had  become  a  sepulchre. 

"  Keep  'em  out,  keep  'em  out ! "  she  gasped,  her  startled 
lips  pale.  It  was  an  appeal,  and  it  was  unlike  Sally  to  ask 
for  help.  The  boy's  response  was  to  herd  out  the  eager, 
curious  faces  with  quick  fist  and  foot,  to  get  the  door 
banged  and  made  fast. 

"Why  didn't  you  go,  too?  I  can  do  without  you, 
Johnny  Doone,"  was  all  the  gratitude  she  showed  him. 

12 


THE    HEART    OF    A   CHILD 

But  it  was  quite  as  much  as  he  expected.  They  moved  to- 
gether over  to  that  prone  figure.  Unconsciously  now  their 
voices  were  lowered,  and  they  stood  close  to  each  other. 
The  boot,  the  blood,  the  matted  hair,  told  their  own  story ; 
it  was  one  with  which  they  were  so  unhappily  familiar. 

"  'E's  done  for  'er,  sure  enough,"  Johnny  whispered. 

«  Yus." 

There  was  nothing  of  tenderness,  emotion,  filial  piety, 
in  the  way  she  spoke;  there  was  a  horrible  callousness, 
although  the  colour  had  gone  out  of  her  cheeks,  and  her 
appeal  to  Johnny  to  keep  the  neighbours  out  had  a  sobbing 
passion  in  it. 

"The  perlice'll  soon  be  here.  I  allus  knew  it  would 
'appen.  And  them  trousers  was  to  go  home  to-night. 
He  might  have  let  her  finish  them  trousers."  There  was 
really  a  sob  in  her  voice.  "  It  'ould  have  been  four-and- 
six  in  his  pocket.  Wake  up,  father,  wake  up  !  " 

She  rushed  to  the  bed,  seized  and  shook  him  passionately, 
without  avail. 

Johnny  handed  her  a  cracked  jug  that  stood  on  a  rickety 
chair. 

"'Ere,  try  this." 

Fortunately  it  was  full.  She  stood  on  tiptoe,  balancing 
it,  then  dashed  the  contents  quickly  on  to  his  face. 

"That'll  wake  'im,"  she  said  viciously.  There  was 
something  elfish,  uncanny,  about  her.  The  short-lived 
awe  and  terror  of  death  had  left  her.  Now  the  situation 
became  one  that  held  a  promise  of  excitement,  variety. 
And  she  was  glad  to  have  Johnny  there.  She  never  knew 
whether  she  liked  Jim  Bates  or  Johnny  Doone  best.  Per- 
haps it  pleased  her  most  when  both  of  them  were  fighting 
with,  or  for,  her.  But  Jim  had  gone  for  police  and  doctor. 
And  her  struggle  with  Johnny  on  the  stairs  gave  zest  to 
their  relation. 

13 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Mr.  Snape  resented  the  cold  water,  he  roused  himself, 
and  began  to  grumble  and  swear.  Even  then  he  would 
have  turned  over  again  to  his  drunken  sleep.  But  neither 
Johnny  nor  Sally  would  have  it.  Johnny  had  secured  the 
room  against  invaders,  and  now  felt  at  home  in  it.  He  too 
was  beginning  to  appreciate  the  possibilities  of  the  situa- 
tion. It  wouldn't  do  to  let  Sally's  father  go  on  sleeping. 
They  must  hear  his  account  before  the  police  came. 

"  'Ere,  wake  up,  wake  up." 

"Why  should  I  ?  .  .  .  'Oo  the  'ell  are  you  ?     Get  out." 

"  Ye've  murdered  yer  wife,  and  the  perlice  is  coming." 

Mr.  Snape  was  finally  compelled  to  a  sitting  position ; 
then  he  stared  about  him  helplessly.  Next,  he  fell  into  a 
reasonless  rage,  and  'asked  — 

"  Wot  d'you  two  b — y  brats  mean  by  staring  at  me  ?  " 

"You  look  wot  ye've  done,"  said  Sally  solemnly,  stand- 
ing aside  to  let  him  see.  Johnny  couldn't  help  grinning 
at  Jim  Snape's  face,  it  grew  so  ashen.  He  fell  shaking  and 
trembling : 

"Wot  are  yer  gettin'  at?  Jane,  Jane,  you  sit  up. 
I'm  a  comin'  over  to  you ;  you  get  along  with  your  work." 

But  the  dead  woman  never  stirred. 

"  Wot's  took  'er  ?  "  he  said  to  Johnny,  feebly ;  then, 
with  conviction:  "She's  lazyin',  that's  wot  she's  doin', 
lazyin'.  Jane ! " 

He  could  not  get  up,  could  not  face  it ;  he  was  shaking 
all  over,  and  frightened,  horribly  frightened,  not  quite 
sober.  Suddenly  he  lurched  upright ;  the  knocking  at  the 
door  had  reached  his  dulled  ears. 

"  'Go's  bringin'  the  perlice  over  me  ? "  he  yelled,  and 
made  a  lounging,  uncertain  blow  at  the  silent  Sally.  She 
dodged  it,  she  was  practised  in  the  art,  but  Johnny  had 
quickly  put  out  an  ingenious  leg,  and  Mr.  Snape  fell  over 
it,  heavily. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  'E  wouldn't  have  'urt  me,"  she  said  to  the  boy  contemp- 
tuously, "he  daresn't.  I'd  larn  'im.  She  never  knew 
how  to  manage  'im,  mother  didn't." 

Johnny  opened  the  door  to  the  police  and  doctor.  He 
stayed,  too,  an  interested  onlooker,  whilst  all  the  sordid 
tragedy  was  being  investigated.  He  tried  to  make  Sally 
talk  to  him,  but  Sally  had  grown  sullen  again. 

"  You  wouldn't  say  nothin ',  not  if  he  was  bein'  'ung," 
he  said,  resentfully,  under  his  breath. 

"  Nor  I  wouldn't  if  you  was,"  she  retorted  quickly.  But 
on  this  occasion,  at  least,  it  seemed  she  was  not  to  be  put  to 
the  test. 

Mr.  Snape  was  put  upon  a  stretcher  and  conveyed  with 
due  dignity  to  the  station,  accompanied  by  a  small  cortege 
of  idlers.  But  a  very  brief  examination  had  proved  that 
the  well-aimed  boot,  though  it  might  have  accelerated,  was 
not  the  cause  of  Janey  Snape's  decease.  She  had  worked 
and  starved  that  Sally  should  have  food,  and  mechanically, 
perhaps,  to  avoid  the  blows  and  physical  abuse  which 
represented  Jim's  way  of  urging  her  to  industry.  And 
all  at  once  the  machinery  had  stopped.  The  doctor  called 
it  " angina"  briefly. 

"Angelina,"  whispered  Johnny.  "'Go's  Angelina?" 
But  again  Sally's  silence  baffled  him.  What  was  the 
good  of  trying  to  keep  her  spirits  up  if  she  wouldn't 
respond  ? 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  say  nothing  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  I  wish  she'd  ha'  finished  them  trousers." 

Sally  did  not  mean  to  be  callous,  and  she  knew  Johnny 
meant  well  by  his  endeavours.  She  had  been  watching 
all  the  scene,  but  when  they  took  the  trousers  from  the 
dead  hands  whose  grasp  seemed  so  difficult  to  unloosen, 
she  could  only  express  regret  that  they  were  unfinished. 
The  observation  broke  from  her  involuntarily,  it  was 

'5 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Janey   Snape's  requiem.     From  the  first  Sally  showed  a 
practical  mind. 

It  was  Sally's  practical  mind  that  confounded  the  senti- 
mental district  visitor.  She  had  waited  in  Mrs.  Evans' 
room  during  the  weary  time  that  elapsed  between  the 
coming  of  the  police  and  the  departure  of  Mr.  Snape  on 
his  dignified  stretcher.  Within  another  hour,  she  was 
told,  the  bearers  from  the  mortuary  would  be  here.  It 
was  then  she  took  her  courage  in  both  hands,  and  went 
across  the  landing. 

Sally  could  not  be  left  alone  in  that  awful  room.  Every 
one  did  something  for  his  or  her  fellow-creatures  in  this 
ugly  world  into  which  Ursula  Rugeley  had  awkwardly 
stumbled.  She  must  do  something,  too,  for  Sally.  Of 
course,  Sally's  magnetism  had  struck  her.  She  thought 
it  was  universal  philanthropy.  But  it  was  not,  it  was 
just  —  Sally  Snape.  The  doctor  told  her  Sally  had  watched 
all  the  proceedings,  that  it  was  obvious  no  detail  escaped 
the  bright  eyes  of  the  little  red-haired  girl,  who  had  never- 
theless an  animal  aloofness  about  her,  and  had  resented 
alike  sympathy  and  questionings. 

"  She  has  bin  a  good  mother  to  you,  Sal,"  the  policeman 
urged.  He  knew  the  pair  of  them.  Jim  Snape  had  been 
locked  up  before  this.  "There  ain't  another  kid  in  this 
place  that  wouldn't  be  cryin'  their  eyes  out  if  they  lost 
'arf  as  good  a  mother  as  you've  'ad." 

Sally  put  her  tongue  out  at  him  quickly;  she  would 
have  liked  to  spit  at  him. 

"You  shan't  see  me  cry;  nobody  shan't  see  me  cry. 
I'll  tear  me  teeth  out  rather,"  she  was  saying  to  herself. 
"If  I  didn't  feel  so  queer  inside,  I'd  larf,  just  to  show  'em. 
I  wish  they'd  take  that  blood  away.  I  wish  they'd  turn 
her  face  the  other  side.  Wot  a  crack  he  must  have  fetched 
her!" 

16 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

But  when  Ursula  had  taken  her  courage  by  the  two 
hands,  and  forced  it  and  herself  into  the  room,  Sally  had 
come  out  of  her  corner.  Mrs.  Snape  was  on  the  bed, 
with  a  sheet  drawn  over  her  face,  her  figure  was  but 
vaguely  defined  beneath  it ;  the  cold  had  not  gone  out  of 
the  room. 

Ursula  came  in  breathlessly,  with  the  phrase  she  had 
composed,  glib  on  her  lips  : 

"You  can't  stay  here  alone.  .  .  ." 

But  again  she  paused  on  the  threshold.  It  was  Sally 
now  who  sat  at  the  table.  Johnny  lounged  against  it, 
watching  her. 

"  Why  shouldn't  J  finish  them  ?  "  she  was  saying.  "  I 
can  do  it  as  well  as  'er.  And  the  rent's  due ;  she'd  like 
me  to  get  that  four-and-six.  You'll  be  able  to  take  'em 
home  for  me,  if  you  stay  till  I've  finished.  Wot's  that  ?  " 
She  had  heard  Ursula's  hesitating  phrase.  "  Can't  stay 
'ere  alone.  Why  not?  And  I  ain't  alone.  .  .  ." 

Johnny  had  a  quicker  appreciation  of  Ursula's  well- 
meant  effort  than  Sally.  But  then  Sally  had  only  just 
found  her  match  and  candle,  and  was  beginning  to  sew. 
It  was  long  before  she  had  the  power  to  project  herself  into 
another  person's  mind.  Her  egotism  left  no  room  for  the 
consideration  of  other  people's  personalities  or  intentions. 
It  was  Johnny  who  saw  how  well-meaning  Miss  Eugeley 
was,  and  that  she  was  sorry  for  Sally. 

"  She'll  be  all  right,  marm,"  he  said  reassuringly. 
"  They're  fetching  away  the  corpse  this  evenin',  and  Sally'll 
have  the  bed  to  'erself.  Don't  you  worrit  about  Sal." 

"I  don't  want  no  one  to  worrit  about  me,"  said  Sal, 
biting  her  thread,  settling  down  to  her  work.  "  I  can  get 
along  all  right.  You  go  back  to  the  school  board,  or  any  one 
who  sent  you  along,  and  say  Sally  Snape's  all  right,  she 
can  take  care  of  herself.  'Ere,  Johnny,  you  light  up  that 
c  17 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

there  iron.  There's  a  penny  on  the  mantelshelf,  you  can 
put  it  in  for  the  gas." 

"  But  I  can't  reconcile  it  with  my  conscience  .  .  ."  Ursula 
began,  feebly. 

Ursula  Eugeley,  who  had  rejected  love  and  marriage, 
and  turned  her  back  on  her  relations,  fighting  through  her 
adult  years  for  some  strange  phantom  of  lately  secured 
independence,  failed,  of  course,  to  realize  that  here  was 
her  more  robust  prototype.  She  suggested  that  one  of 
Mrs.  Crowe's  children  would  be  a  better  protector  for 
Sally  than  Johnny  Doone.  She  even  offered,  this  was  a 
very  half-hearted  proposal,  to  take  her  home  for  the 
night  to  that  Bayswater  villa  where  she  herself  dwelt 
on  good  terms  with  respectability.  She  meant  well,  she 
had  as  good  a  heart  as  is  compatible  with  a  limited 
intelligence.  But  she  could  hardly  be  made  to  understand 
that  her  presence  was  regarded  as  an  intrusion,  and  that 
Johnny's  tact  and  Sally's  indifference  covered  the  same 
resentment. 

Ursula  Rugeley  had  undertaken  work  of  which  she  was 
incapable.  She  knew  it  when  she  reached  her  villa  that 
night,  leaving  Sally  Snape  stitching  at  the  trousers  by  the 
light  of  the  one  candle,  the  pennyworth  of  gas  saved  for 
the  flatiron,  and  Johnny  keeping  his  strange  vigil  beside 
her. 


18 


CHAPTER  II 

SALLY,  with  the  connivance  of  her  indulgent  father, 
spent  the  next  three  years  in  not  wholly  unsuccessful 
attempts  to  evade  the  school  board.  She  was  industrious 
enough  at  the  tailoring,  for  there  she  saw  the  tangible 
result  of  her  labours.  Eight  hours'  continuous  and  un- 
remitting stitching  meant  something  like  one  shilling  and 
fivepence.  One  shilling  and  fivepence  provided  her  with 
food  for  three  days.  But  a  whole  week's  regular  school 
attendance  meant  twopence  out  of  pocket,  and  nothing 
gained,  at  least  nothing  upon  which  Sally  set  a  value. 
So  she  feigned  illness,  invented  infection,  changed  her 
address,  and,  in  fact,  resorted  to  all  the  subterfuges  our 
beneficent  educational  laws  rendered  necessary.  The  de- 
terioration of  personal  character,  which  is  the  usual 
penalty  of  continual  lying,  left  her  unaffected.  For,  truly, 
at  this  period  of  her  career  she  cannot  justly  be  said  to 
have  possessed  a  character.  She  had  only  a  belly;  and 
the  problem  of  how  to  fill  it  absorbed  her  entire  intel- 
lectuality. All  the  machinery  for  thinking  with  which 
nature  had  endowed  her  worked  at  this.  That,  neverthe- 
less, on  her  sixteenth  birthday  she  could  read  fairly  well, 
write  exceedingly  badly,  and  spell  not  at  all,  proves  that 
we  do  not  spend  our  ten  millions  a  year  quite  without 
result.  To  provide  Sally  Snape,  individually,  with  her 
acquirements  had  cost  the  country  about  £87  16s.  lid. 
That  was  how  the  items  worked  out.  The  pursuit  of  Sally 
and  her  father  had  needed  almost  the  entire  service  of  a 

19 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

capable  officer  for  a  little  over  four  years.  Jim  Snape  had 
been  fined  for  her  non-attendance,  had  failed  to  pay  the 
fine,  and  been  imprisoned.  In  prison  the  State  fed  and 
clothed  and  guarded  him,  very  uncomfortably,  and  again 
at  an  extraordinary  expense.  He  caught  a  severe  cold  in 
the  deadly  cleanliness  of  his  official  surroundings,  the  cold 
attacked  his  lungs,  and  he  broke  a  blood-vessel.  So  he 
was  taken  to  the  prison  infirmary,  doctored  and  given 
luxuries,  pampered  to  such  an  extent  that  he  could  not 
stand  Sally's  housekeeping  when  he  was  released.  Fortu- 
nately a  foggy  day's  work  at  the  Limehouse  Docks,  when 
he  emerged  from  his  enforced  retirement,  finished  what  the 
State  had  so  well  begun. 

He  lingered  for  some  months  in  the  infirmary  of  the  local 
workhouse,  grumbling  much  at  his  entertainment,  and 
appearing  to  regret  the  jail. 

Sally  was  finally  freed  from  both  her  father  and  the 
school  board  when  she  was  in  her  sixteenth  year. 

She  then  tried  "  living  in  "  at  the  house  of  a  Russian  Jew, 
who  ran  an  uninspected  factory  in  a  cellar.  The  top  part  of 
the  house  was  let — four  families  in  a  room — to  other  Russian 
Jews.  But  Sally's  red  head  or  quick  tongue,  her  slim  figure 
or  slick  fingers,  attracted  Mr.  Kirstenblum's  shifty  eyes,  and 
at  the  end  of  a  month  he  raised  her  wages  from  five  to  six 
shillings  a  week.  That  Sally  accepted  gladly,  but  when 
he  tried  to  kiss  her  in  the  passage  she  promptly,  perhaps 
vulgarly,  smacked  his  face.  She  had  not  yet  learned 
society  manners. 

Ighmy  Kirstenblum,  however,  would  no  doubt  have 
taken  the  blow  as  befitted  the  traditions  of  his  race,  he 
would  have  turned  the  other  cheek  also.  But  Providence, 
masquerading  in  the  unwieldy  guise  of  Mrs.  Kirstenblum, 
intervened.  There  followed  an  homeric  scene,  of  which 
the  upshot  was  the  immediate  dismissal  of  Sally  Snape  in 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

a  state  of  furious  indignation,  but  with  only  a  limited  know- 
ledge of  the  accusation  which  was  being  brought  against 
her.  Mrs.  Kirstenblum's  Yiddish  was  voluble,  but  difficult 
to  follow.  Sally  was  never  a  linguist. 

Trade  was  slack,  and  the  weather  inclement.  Mrs. 
Kirstenblum  was  not  only  voluble,  but  vindictive.  There 
is  a  certain  standard  of  moral  conduct  among  the  alien 
population  that  has  cornered  the  Limehouse  tailoring  trade, 
and,  although  Sally  Snape  had  never  fallen  below  it,  the 
coarse-mouthed  wife  of  her  late  employer  gave  her  a  bad 
character.  No  one  would  have  her  as  an  inmate  of  the 
house,  and  piecework  was  difficult  to  get. 

Sally  had  never  known  anything  but  privation.  Now 
the  grim  and  ghastly  figure  of  starvation  pursued  her, 
dogged  her  footsteps,  caught  at  her  skirts,  was  never  out 
of  sight.  It  is  now  the  fashion  to  call  Sally  beautiful. 
But  late  one  night  in  November,  1902,  when  Johnny  Doone 
met  her  once  more  in  Angel  Gardens,  it  was  only  the 
Pursuer  that  one  saw  in  her.  She  had  grown  extraordi- 
narily thin,  her  face  was  shrunk  to  a  grey  shadow,  and  her 
indeterminate  eyes  gave  no  relief  to  it.  The  thick  tousled 
red  mop  of  matted  hair  was  covered  by  a  shawl,  her  teeth 
had  forgotten  to  smile,  they  knew  only  how  to  chatter. 

"  Hullo,"  said  Johnny ;  "  ain't  that  you,  Sal  Snape  ?  " 

"  It's  me,  sure  enough,  wot's  left  of  me." 

There  was  a  sob  in  her  voice ;  she  had  had  a  rough  time, 
and  her  spirit  was  almost  broken.  She  had  not  forgotten 
Johnny  Doone,  although  since  Jim  Snape's  imprisonment 
she  had  had  no  rendezvous  with  her  old  friends. 

He  was  lounging  against  a  door  post,  the  recognized 
Angel  Gardens  attitude.  He  had  been  a  big  lout  of  four- 
teen ;  at  seventeen  he  had  not  grown  except  in  loutishness. 
Johnny  had  been  to  sea.  For  the  last  two  or  three  years 
Grimsby  had  been  his  headquarters.  But  casual  labour 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

suited  him  better  than  regular  employment.  He  had  been 
back  at  the  docks  some  months  now. 

"You  recollect  that  night  we  sat  up  together?  I've 
often  thought  of  that  night." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  indifferently. 

"  Are  yer  still  at  the  tailoring  ?  " 

"  Seems  there  ain't  no  tailoring." 

"  Trade  slack  ?  " 

"  'Ere,  leave  off  arsking  questions.  D'yer  know  if  Mrs. 
Evans  is  still  'ere  ?  " 

"  Her  as  used  to  do  knittin',  and  talk  tracts  ?  " 

"  That's  'er." 

"  What  do  yer  want  'er  for  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  yer  must  know,  I'm  dead  out.  She'd  give  me 
a  bite  and  a  lie  down,  p'raps.  The  luck's  bin  against  me." 

Johnny  eyed  her ;  he  saw  she  was  in  trouble,  but  he 
knew  her  so  well.  And  he  wanted  to  help  her.  If  he  said 
the  wrong  word,  she  would  fly  at  him  as  of  old,  in  trouble 
or  out  of  it.  And  the  right  one  was  difficult  to  find. 

"You  mind  that  night?"  he  said  again,  sympatheti- 
cally. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  wearily. 

Now  she  sat  down  on  the  step.  The  street  was  dim 
before  her  eyes,  the  mud  and  puddles  had  strange  playing 
lights,  her  head  seemed  to  have  grown  so  large  and  heavy 
that  her  limbs  could  not  carry  it;  that  was  why  she  sat 
down.  So  it  was  Johnny  Doone  talking  to  her.  Well ! 
let  him  talk.  This  was  almost  "  home  " ;  she  had  come 
back  here  with  some  vague  idea  that  Mrs.  Evans  would 
help  her.  She  could  take  help  from  Mrs.  Evans,  other 
people  had  offered  it  to  her,  but  she  had  had  no  help. 

He  went  on  awkwardly  : 

"I've  took  on  your  old  room,  Sandy  Kirk  'alves  it 
with  me.  You  recollect  Sandy  Kirk,  'im  as  'ad  his  leg 

22 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

tore  off  on  the  railway.  'E's  net-making  now  ;  ye'll  see 
him  at  the  window  if  you  come  upstairs.  Yer'll  come 
upstairs,  Sal?" 

His  voice  was  almost  pleading.  He  had  carried  her  up 
those  stairs  before,  forced  her  up  them. 

He  had  half  a  mind  to  do  it  again.  But  perhaps  she'd 
come  of  her  own  accord : 

"Sal!" 

She  was  sitting  on  the  doorstep,  her  heavy  head  had 
fallen  forward  on  her  thin  arms,  she  hardly  heard  him, 
that  head  of  hers  was  so  light  and  swimming.  She  had 
eaten  nothing  since  yesterday  morning;  and  all  the  time 
she  had  been  on  the  tramp,  asking  for  work,  getting 
none. 

"  You  mind  I  carried  yer  up  'em  that  night  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  I'd  'arf  a  mind  to  do  it  again  ?  " 

"  'Ave  you  ?  "  she  said  indifferently. 

She  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  tether ;  for  the  moment 
there  was  no  fight  left  in  her.  He  waited,  not  even  yet 
quite  sure  that  she  was  not  feinting,  that  she  would  not 
turn  and  spring  on  him,  that  the  old  Sal  was  not  lying  in 
wait  for  him.  He  lounged  a  step  nearer  her : 

"  You're  dead  beat,  that's  wot's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Sandy  and  me  wos  just  goin'  to  have  supper  .  .  ." 

She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Supper ! "  Her  eyes  were  strained.  All  at  once  her 
pride  broke. 

"Johnny  .  .  .  I'm  nigh  starving,"  she  whispered;  her 
small  face  was  eloquent  of  it,  and  so  were  her  gaunt  eyes. 

"  Come  along  up,"  he  said  roughly ;  he  was  more  moved 
than  he  had  words  for.  He  had  to  put  his  arm  round  her ; 
she  was  almost  incapable  of  further  effort.  Again  he  half- 

23 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

led,  half-pushed  her  up  those  rickety  stairs.  How  familiar 
it  all  was. 

"  I'm  'eavy  on  you,"  she  said  apologetically. 

"I  could  take  yer  up  in  one  'and."  His  voice  and 
manner  were  rough,  but  his  heart  was  very  tender  over 
her.  He  thought  now  he  wanted  his  old  spitfire  Sal  back 
again. 

The  room  was  very  different  from  what  it  had  been  in 
Janey  Snape's  time.  To  commence  with,  the  big  bed  was 
gone  and  the  wooden  table,  and  that  made  it  look  larger. 
Then  the  roof  had  been  mended.  Sandy  Kirk  had  a  pas- 
sion for  cleanliness ;  he  had  been  nearly  a  year  in  hospital, 
and  they'd  "learnt"  it  him  there,  he  often  said.  He 
liked  warmth,  and  there  was  a  cheerful  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  an  overwhelming  smell  of  cooking.  Sandy  was  busy 
about  it;  his  crutch  was  under  one  arm,  but  with  the 
other  he  was  manipulating  the  saucepan.  He  did  not 
look  up  as  Johnny  entered  with  his  visitor : 

"'Arf  a  mo',"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I'm  just  turning 
of  it  out.  Hullo !  "  For  then  he  looked  up. 

"  It's  Sal  Snape,"  Johnny  explained. 

"  Sal ! " 

"  I'm  starving,  Sandy." 

Her  pride  was  all  broken  up.  The  smell  from  the  sauce- 
pan dissipated  the  last  remains  of  it.  She  burst  into  tears, 
and  her  sobs  wrung  the  hearts  of  the  two  friends ;  their 
awkward  sympathy,  and  their  memories  of  her,  hindered 
them  in  their  haste  to  help  her. 

But  after  they  had  shared  their  meal,  and  Sal  had  re- 
covered herself  somewhat,  they  all  three  sat  talking,  gath- 
ering together  their  reminiscences  of  each  other. 

Johnny  said  he  was  back  at  the  docks,  earning  his 
eighteen  shillings  a  week.  Sandy  made  fishing-nets;  his 
accident  had  been  fortunate  for  him,  he  had  had  compensa- 

24 


THE    HEART   OF   A  CHILD 

tion,  and  now  work  had  been  found  for  him.  He  was 
immediately  under  the  supervision  of  the  local  clergy. 

"I'm  better  off  with  one  leg  nor  ever  I  was  with  two," 
he  explained. 

Only  Sally  had  had  bad  luck. 

"  Stay  along  of  us  a  bit,  Sal,  there's  more  'an  enough," 
Sandy  urged.  Sandy  was  only  fifteen,  and  although  he 
was  prescient  and  alive  to  the  difficulties  of  living,  and  the 
hardships  of  the  maimed,  he  was  ignorant  of  decorum. 
He  even  implored  her : 

"  You  can  'elp  with  the  cooking,  and  work  will  come  erlong. 
It's  jolly  up  here,  with  nuffin,  nor  nobody,  to  interfere." 

Sally  had  told  baldly  of  her  struggles,  of  her  vain  search 
for  work,  of  snubs  and  rebuffs,  of  hard  times  and  slack 
trade.  But  she  had  left  out  the  Kirstenblum  incident.  It 
was  not  the  only  one  of  the  kind  either.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  men  always  wanted  to  kiss  or  maul  her.  She 
had  an  instinctive  fierceness  of  virginity,  a  crude,  ill- 
defined  hatred  of  being  touched  or,  as  she  put  it  herself, 
mauled  about.  All  men  were  antipathetic  to  her.  But 
Johnny  and  Sandy  were  boys,  old  pals  too.  She  had 
fought  with  Johnny,  and  even  with  Sandy  before  he  lost 
his  leg. 

"  I'll  stay  a  bit,"  she  said,  at  length,  and  not  without 
hesitation,  "  if  I  won't  be  in  no  one's  way.  I'll  pay  my 
share  though,"  she  added  quickly,  nearer  to  her  old  manner. 
Perhaps  she  saw  a  shadow  of  change  in  Johnny's  expres- 
sion. "  If  I'm  welcome  to  both  of  yer." 

None  of  the  people  Sally  had  known  were  living  now 
in  Angel  Gardens.  Jim  Bolding  was  dead,  and  both  the 
little  girls.  Mrs.  Crowe  was  dead,  and  Mrs.  Evans  had  been 
justified  in  her  faith.  For  she  too  was  dead.  Only  last 
winter  there  had  been  an  outbreak  of  fever,  and  many, 
deemed  undesirables  here,  had  gone  to  find  their  welcome 

21 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

in  a  many-roomed  mansion.  There  was  no  shorter  catechist 
among  the  ragged  remnant  of  the  submerged  tenth  that 
lingered  here,  to  question  the  propriety  of  that  strange 
manage. 

Sally  stayed  with  the  two  boys  for  barely  a  month,  but 
even  that  month  of  decent  food  and  congenial  companion- 
ship restored  her  strength  and  courage.  Her  physical 
health  was  always  perfect.  Johnny  and  Sandy  shared  the 
bed ;  but  the  luck  had  turned  the  very  day  Sally  went  home 
—  she  called  it  "  home  "  for  many  years,  and  thought  of  it 
that  way.  The  luck  turned,  and  she  got  work  —  a  dozen 
pairs  of  trousers  from  the  firm  that  formerly  employed 
her  mother.  That  was  Johnny's  idea,  she  had  had  to 
give  them  up  in  that  school-board-dodging  time.  But 
they  recognized  her  when  she  called  upon  them ;  they 
knew  she  was  to  be  trusted,  and  gladly  gave  her  the  work. 
She  slept  on  those  trousers,  under  her  table  by  the  window ; 
they  made  a  nice  soft  bed,  and  some  of  them  were  piled 
over  her  for  warmth. 

The  strange  manage  lasted  a  month.  It  might  have  gone 
on  longer  if  the  order  for  the  destruction  of  Angel  Gardens 
had  not  at  last  been  enforced,  and  the  men  from  the 
Metropolitan  Board  of  Works  arrived  to  execute  it.  Of 
course,  notice  after  notice  had  been  served  upon  the  in- 
habitants, but  few  of  them  could  read,  and  none  of  them 
could  project  their  minds  into  the  future.  So  the  men,  and 
their  picks,  came  like  a  shock,  even  to  Sally  and  her  room- 
mates. Johnny  was  at  the  docks;  Sandy  and  Sally  had 
made  no  plans,  they  had  nowhere  to  go.  They  looked  on 
dumbly,  half-stupefied,  whilst  their  household  goods  were 
bundled  into  the  street. 

There,  in  the  street,  and  around  them,  were  hunger, 
disease,  and  despair.  Like  rats  from  their  holes  came  the 
people,  red-eyed,  resentful  of  the  authority  that  was  taking 

26 


THE    HEART  OF   A   CHILD 

from  them  their  cesspool  of  a  home,  miserables  all,  too 
weak  to  fight.  Except  for  that,  the  scene  in  the  street 
was  like  an  Irish  eviction.  The  women  made  their  moan, 
wept  quietly  or  fiercely,  and  the  men  stood  about  and 
cursed  feebly. 

It  was  the  representative  of  the  Charity  Organization 
Society,  whom  Sally  had  once  mistaken  for  a  school-board 
inspector,  that  came  to  them  when  they  stood  bewildered 
among  their  poor  belongings.  There  were  a  few  capable 
men  and  women,  from  the  parish  and  elsewhere,  who  had 
realized  that  help  would  be  needed,  and  had  come  to  give 
it.  Ursula  Rugeley  had  learnt  her  work  better  by  now,  she 
no  longer  offered  help  without  sympathy. 

She  approached  them,  because  she  was  here  to  help,  and 
they  seemed  most  helpable,  young,  and  more  bewildered 
than  resentful. 

"It  is  rather  dreadful,  isn't  it,"  she  said  kindly,  "this 
sudden  order  for  removal  ?  I  suppose  you  have  a  father 
or  mother,  or  somebody  belonging  to  you  who  has  gone 
to  find  rooms  ?  " 

Sally  looked  younger  than  her  sixteen  years.  Sandy  had 
never  grown  since  his  leg  was  taken  off.  They  seemed 
two  mere  children.  His  hospital  experience  had  taught 
Sandy  manners,  and  the  ways  of  gentlefolk,  and  he  an- 
swered when  he  was  directly  addressed : 

"We  didn't  know  we'd  have  to  go  so  soon.  There's 
only  me  and  Sally,  and  Johnny  wot's  at  the  docks.  We'll 
'ave  to  let  Johnny  know  somehow." 

"  Your  brother  ?  " 

"No,  marm.  We  are  none  of  us  no  relation,  but  we  lives 
together.  We'll  'ave  to  find  another  room." 

"  I'll  have  to  finish  them  trousers  quick,"  said  Sally. 

Ursula  looked  at  her  with  sudden  interest. 

"  You  are  Sally  Snape,"  she  said  quickly.  "  I  remember 

27 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

you  so  well.  You  must  let  me  help  you  with  your  moving, 
and  to  find  you  a  room.  Have  you  tried  at  the  new  Pea- 
body  Buildings  ?  " 

"We  ain't  goin'  to  live  in  a  workhus',"  said  Sally  un- 
gratefully. She  had  no  special  memory  of  Ursula;  "all 
they  school-board  people  look  alike."  She  had  never 
corrected  this  impression. 

"It  ain't  a  workhus',  Sal.  It's  all  right,"  Sandy  ex- 
plained. 

Ursula  Rugeley  took  the  entire  responsibility  of  them 
and  their  household.  Sandy,  owing  to  his  accident  and 
his  compensation,  was  more  or  less  of  a  public  character. 
The  clergyman  of  the  parish  was  very  glad  to  see  he  had 
found  a  friend. 

"  You  can  leave  these  two  to  me,"  Ursula  said  decisively ; 
and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Jay,  who  had  his  hands  very  full 
indeed,  was  glad  to  do  so. 

Ursula  found  them  two  rooms  for  seven-and-six  a  week, 
and,  before  she  left,  had  made  these  habitable.  Sally  at- 
tracted Miss  Rugeley  to-day  as  she  had  three  years  ago.  The 
girl's  simplicity  and  directness  appealed  to  her.  She  was 
working  at  the  trousers  before  she  had  been  an  hour  in  her 
new  quarters.  Sandy  would  have  to  hobble  down  to  the 
docks  to  meet  Johnny,  she  said  decisively.  If  the  lady 
would  like  to  wait  until  she  had  finished,  she  could  talk, 
but  she  couldn't  stop  working,  "  not  for  nobody,"  she  said. 
"I've  promised  to  take  them  trousers  'ome  to-night,  and 
'ome  I  mean  to  take  'em." 

And  Ursula,  indefinably  attracted,  stayed  and  watched. 
She  avoided  the  difficult  subject  of  standards,  and  asked 
no  question  that  could  wound  Sally's  sensitiveness.  Sally's 
sensitiveness  was  curious  in  its  lapses  and  limitations. 
What  she  found  intolerable  now,  or  at  any  time,  was 
any  allusion  to  her  shortcomings.  She  bore  praise  well. 

28 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Ursula  praised  her  industry,  and  noted  that  Sandy  seemed 
devoted  to  her.  Sally  grew  quite  talkative  under  this 
sort  of  treatment,  although  conversation  was  never  her 
strong  point.  And  Ursula  was  soon  in  possession  of  many 
details  of  tailoring,  and  the  ways  of  the  trade.  She  also 
learnt  incidentally  that  every  year,  "owin'  to  them 
Russian  Jews,"  work  was  harder  to  get,  and  worse  paid 
for  when  obtained.  It  transpired  incidentally  that,  if 
Sally  worked  fourteen  hours  a  day,  it  was  as  much  as  she 
could  do  to  earn  her  twelve  shillings  a  week,  and  she  had 
to  buy  her  thread  out  of  that !  But  it  wasn't  regular,  that 
was  the  only  thing  of  which  Sally  complained,  you  couldn't 
always  rely  upon  getting  more  when  you  took  'ome  your 
work.  She  weren't  goin'  to  live  on  Sandy  and  Johnny,  she'd 
a  mind  to  look  for  something  else. 

Ursula  visited  her  proteges  in  Peabody's  Buildings  with 
unusual  regularity.  She  grew  quite  intimate  with  them, 
in  fact.  The  size  and  age  of  Johnny  Doone  rather 
startled  her  when  she  first  realized  him,  and  the  nature 
of  his  attitude  towards  Sally.  She  had  spasms  and  qualms 
of  conscience.  She  no  more  understood  the  sex  question, 
as  it  appeared  to  the  decent  denizens  of  Limehouse,  than 
Sally  understood,  later  on,  how  the  problem  presented 
itself  in  Mayfair.  What  is  in  the  West  End  an  agreeable 
society  custom  has  an  ugly  word  attached  to  it  in  the 
slums.  Sally  was  quite  definitely,  and  not  ignorantly, 
virtuous.  And  she  was  protected  by  her  temperament. 
There  was  quick  work  with  Johnny  one  evening  when 
he  attempted  a  rough  endearment,  he  had  the  contents 
of  a  saucepan  in  his  face  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

"Don't  you  be  comin'  that  game  with  me,  Johnny 
Doone,"  Sally  said  significantly.  "  I  ain't  that  sort." 

"I  wasn't  comin'  no  game,"  he  answered  sullenly.  "I 
suppose*  you  and  me'll  get  married  one  day." 

29 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

He  had  no  prophetic  instinct  at  all.  "  There's  no  'arm 
in  kissin  V 

"  No,  nor  no  good  neither,  that  I  can  see,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "  An'  as  for  marryin',  I  'ate  the  very  name  of  io." 

Ursula  could  have  spared  herself  much  anxiety  if  she 
had  realized  Sally  better,  but  Sally  was  never  easy  to  under- 
stand. She  was  extraordinarily  imitative.  Before  Ursula 
had  paid  her  half  a  dozen  visits,  Sally  had  picked  up  some- 
thing of  her  talk  and  accent.  She  even  went  to  the  ex- 
treme length  of  tidying  her  hair  and  washing  her  face 
when  she  expected  her  visitor.  But  that  was  one  day 
when  the  last  bundle  of  clothes  had  been  finished,  and  there 
was  no  new  work  on  hand.  She  and  Ursula  discussed 
the  matter  very  seriously,  and,  although  the  suggestion  of 
getting  work  in  a  factory  came  in  the  first  place  from  Sally, 
it  was  Miss  Rugeley  who  made  it  possible,  and  even  easy. 

Sally  thought  herself  in  clover  when,  with  her  friend's 
influence  to  back  her,  she  was  taken  on  by  Messrs.  Hall  & 
Palmer,  in  the  celebrated  jam  and  pickle  warehouse. 
Fourteen  shillings  a  week  was  her  wage,  and  it  seemed 
a  liberal  one.  Only  ten  hours'  work  was  expected  of  her, 
and  time  from  that  was  allowed  for  dinner  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  and  tea  in  the  afternoon.  Sally  had  not  been  used  to 
such  luxury  as  became  hers  immediately  she  was  taken  on 
by  that  liberal  and  intelligent  firm.  There  were  nearly  six 
hundred  girls  employed  in  one  department  or  another  — 
jam-making,  pickle-making,  preserving  ginger,  cooking 
hams,  cutting  and  drying  vegetables  for  soups,  prepar- 
ing palatable  delicacies  of  every  kind  and  variety.  The 
cleanliness  demanded  was  a  tax  upon  Sally  Snape's  temper 
during  the  first  few  days.  She  had  to  wear  a  white  pina- 
fore, and  to  wash  her  hands ;  but  she  fell  into  line  quickly. 
Her  income  was  easy  to  live  upon;  a  sixpenny  dinner  was 
to  be  had  at  the  Girls'  Club,  and  tea  for  twopence. 

30 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

From  the  beginning  it  had  been  Ursula's  desire  that 
Sally  should  leave  the  boys  to  themselves.  And  presently 
Sally  was  persuaded  of  the  folly  of  living  in  Limehouse 
when  she  worked  near  Shaftesbury  Avenue.  Mary  Murray 
and  she  picked  fruit  together  at  the  same  tub.  Sally  had 
always  her  personal  magnetism,  and  a  capacity  for  making 
friends  easily  and  quickly.  Mary  and  she  had  exchanged 
histories  before  Sally  had  been  a  week  in  the  provision 
factory.  Within  a  fortnight  the  two  girls  were  living 
together,  sharing  a  furnished  room,  at  six  shillings  a  week, 
in  Greek  Street,  Soho,  having  practically  a  common  purse, 
and  a  community  of  goods  and  interests. 

Mary  was  nineteen,  nearly  two  years  older  than  Sally 
Snape,  a  fair-haired,  anaemic  girl.  She  wore  an  imitation 
turquoise  comb  in  her  hair,  the  fringe  of  which  was  kept 
in  curling  pins  for  five  days  in  the  week.  It  was  desper- 
ately straight,  and  rather  scanty,  and  this  was  the  tragedy 
of  Mary's  life.  Her  thin,  bloodless  lips  drooped  patheti- 
cally, and  her  blue  eyes  were  plaintive.  But  the  pathos 
and  the  plaintiveness  were  all  about  her  hair.  Sally's 
exuberant  red  mass  exasperated  her,  and  her  inability  to 
persuade  Sally  to  curling  pins  or  papers  was  a  perpetual 
grievance.  Otherwise  the  girls  were  close  friends. 

Mary  Murray  belonged  to  a  considerably  higher  social 
class  than  Sally  Snape.  Her  father  had  been  the  proud 
possessor  of  a  hair-dressing  and  tobacco  shop  in  Bermond- 
sey.  The  sale  of  tobacco  he  managed  himself,  but  he  had 
an  assistant  for  the  shaving.  This  assistant  had  to  clean 
the  windows  as  well  as  shave  the  customers,  and  one  day 
he  fell  off  the  exceedingly  rickety  ladder,  with  which  he 
had  been  provided,  and  broke  his  thigh.  He  brought  an 
action  against  his  employer.  Under  one  of  the  many  iniqui- 
tous Acts  framed  in  the  interests  of  labour  and  against 
capital,  he  won  his  case,  and  ruined  Mary's  father,  who, 

31 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

having  neither  assets  nor  courage,  evaded  payment  by 
hanging  himself  in  the  backyard.  All  of  which  informa- 
tion Mary  gave  freely,  adding,  with  all  the  vindictiveness 
of  which  her  feebleness  was  capable,  that  Jim  Mortimer 
never  got  a  penny  of  his  money,  for  when  everything  was 
sold  there  was  only  enough  for  the  lawyers  ! 

Mary  Murray's  parents  had  encouraged  an  ambition 
for  higher  things  than  they  ever  achieved.  They  were 
of  the  smallest  tradespeople.  But  in  the  dim,  yet  golden, 
background  of  their  lives  there  loomed  always  the  possi- 
bility of  a  piano.  In  their  particular  social  stratum 
the  piano  was  the  outward  sign  of  prosperity.  They 
never  actually  attained  it;  but,  by  living  with  it  as  a  goal 
before  her  eyes,  Mary  had  been  early  fired  with  a  desire 
for  self-improvement.  If  she  envied  Sally  her  hair,  she 
was  soon  able  to  show  herself  more  than  Sally's  equal. 
She  wrote  the  day's  menu  on  her  slate  at  the  instance  of 
the  forewoman,  and  volunteered  to  help  with  the  accounts 
when  a  day-in-the-country  fund  was  started  in  the  work- 
room. 

Sally  would  not  own  her  incompetence;  it  was  never 
Sally's  way  to  admit  that  she  was  ignorant.  But  she 
did  begin  about  this  time  to  regret  her  success  in  evading 
education,  and  with  infinite  tact  Miss  Eugeley  was  able 
to  induce  her  to  a  Continuation  School  for  a  year. 

That  year  at  Hall  &  Palmer's  saw  Sally  Snape  grown 
from  a  miserable  little  gutter-snipe  into  the  five  feet  four 
which  she  was  afterwards  assured  was  the  ideal  height  for 
the  boards  of  the  Verandah  Theatre.  She  talked  genteelly, 
like  Mary  Murray,  had  a  comb  with  even  bigger  turquoises, 
and  a  Sunday  hat  with  two  white  feathers  in  it.  Inci- 
dentally, too,  she  had  become  aware  that  Luke  Cullen,  who 
was  in  the  machinists'  department,  earning  good  money  and 
sober  nearly  all  the  week,  was  throwing  himself  in  her 

32 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

way  whenever  opportunity  offered,  and  at  other  times. 
The  girls  chaffed  her  about  him : 

"You  can  have  him  for  the  asking,"  Mary  Murray  said 
enviously.  "  You  wait  till  the  day  we  go  to  Epping,  and 
see  if  he  don't  want  you  to  fix  up  something.  He'll  be 
wanting  you  to  go  to  Hampstead  with  him  on  Bank 
Holiday,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised." 

"  He  may  want,"  said  Sally  with  a  toss  of  her  red  head. 

"  You  won't  go  ?  "  Mary  queried.  Mary  was  not  anx- 
ious to  be  married,  but  would  desperately  have  liked  to  be 
wooed.  Her  anaemia  made  her  romantic,  and  although 
her  imagination  pictured  something  superior  to  the  oil- 
stained,  stunted,  occasionally  tipsy  Luke  Cullen,  still,  he 
was  better  than  no  lover  at  all. 

But  Sally  was  neither  romantic  nor  imaginative.  The 
hat  and  the  comb  meant  nothing  more  than  the  steady 
development  of  her  imitative  faculty.  Neither  Luke 
Cullen's  high  wages,  he  was  popularly  supposed  to  draw 
two  pounds  a  week,  nor  his  position,  appealed  to  her. 
She  liked  Johnny  Doone  better,  although  he  was  only  a 
dock  labourer,  and  she  knew  to  what  that  led!  But  she 
did  not  want  either  of  them  nearer  to  her  than  she  could 
help.  She  told  Luke  so  when  he  sidled  up  to  her  in  the 
omnibus  on  the  eventful  Epping  Forest  day,  and  began, 
as  she  averred,  to  make  himself  unpleasant. 

"  I  wish  you  would  keep  yourself  more  to  yourself, 
Mr.  Cullen,"  she  said. 

"You  need  not  be  so  stand-offish,  on  a  'oliday,  Miss 
Snape,"  he  pleaded. 

"You  are  crushing  my  dress."  She  was  slightly  molli- 
fied, very  genteel,  however,  and  not  prepared  to  yield 
an  inch.  That  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  day.  Later 
on,  the  unwonted  luxury  of  the  drive,  the  sweet  spring 
air,  the  singing  of  the  birds,  the  green  in  Epping  Forest, 
D  33 


moved  her,  and  she  became  more  companionable.  She 
still  did  not  want  Luke  near  her,  but  she  exchanged  chaff, 
she  let  him  "  foller  her  about "  and  sit  next  to  her  on  the 
grass,  whilst  they  ate  the  food  they  had  brought  with  them. 
She  even  accepted  a  drink  of  stout,  from  his  tumbler. 
After  that  their  intimacy  progressed  apace. 

Sally,  now  that  she  had  rilled  out  a  little,  and  had  imbibed 
sdme  of  Mary  Murray's  notions  of  gentility,  stood  out 
amongst  all  those  rough-and-ready  factory  girls  with  a 
certain  individuality.  The  secret  of  it  is  hard  to  define, 
but  it  followed  her  through  all  her  vicissitudes.  Wherever 
Sally  Snape  was  to  be  found  —  in  a  van  full  of  factory  girls, 
in  the  show-room  at  Brook  Street,  or  in  the  great  picture 
gallery,  full  of  guests,  at  Buckminster — she  made  her 
particular  effect.  She  was  never  quite  one  with  the  crowd, 
she  always  stood  alone. 

Mr.  Peastone,  who,  in  his  own  estimation,  was  quite 
an  important  man  in  the  counting-house  of  Messrs.  Hall  & 
Palmer's,  had  come  to  this  "  beano,"  as  he  called  it,  for 
a  spree.  The  one  shilling  that  was  the  inclusive  price 
of  the  whole  entertainment  was  of  no  account  to  him. 
He  and  a  pal  had  hired  a  dogcart  for  the  day,  and  he  had 
driven  it  himself.  In  truth  his  driving  was  a  strange 
affair ;  but  the  dogcart  came  from  the  same  stables  as  the 
omnibuses,  and  the  spavined,  broken-kneed,  three-legged 
animal  followed  the  last  omnibus  quietly  enough.  Charlie 
Peastone  thought  himself  a  very  great  swell  indeed  as  he 
drove  his  dogcart.  And  to  Alf  Stevens,  too,  who  was 
halving  expenses  with  him,  he  seemed  a  very  dashing  chap. 
Alf  was  also  in  the  counting-house,  but  he  had  not  Charlie 
Peastone's  initiative.  He  would  never  have  thought  of 
hiring  a  dogcart,  for  instance. 

That  feeling  of  its  being  "  no  end  of  a  spree "  lasted 
all  through  the  drive  to  Epping;  but  it  got  a  little  flat 

34 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

under  the  trees,  when  every  one  was  enjoying  the  picnic 
in  parties  of  two  and  three,  and  Charlie  and  Alf,  having 
forgotten  to  provide  themselves  with  what  they  called 
provender,  had  been  compelled  to  seek  a  neighbouring 
public-house  for  cold  beef  and  pickles.  But  the  beef  and 
pickles  were  good,  and  Charlie  knew  what  was  what.  He 
drank  whisky-and-soda,  although  he  would  have  infinitely 
preferred  beer,  and  he  bought  two  twopenny  cigars,  of  a 
fine  British  brand.  Then  they  strolled  back  to  the  others. 

"  Let's  have  a  squint  at  the  girls.  We  might  pick  up 
something,"  he  said  airily.  "  Did  you  see  that  red-headed 
little  lot  in  the  first  bus  ?  I  just  got  a  look  at  her  before 
they  started." 

"  There  was  a  pretty  girl  with  her,  fair,  genteel-looking." 

"  So  you  spotted  them  too,  good  for  you.  Come  along, 
we'll  give  them  a  treat." 

Sally  was  in  the  humour  for  being  given  a  treat,  for 
Luke  Cullen  was  not  an  exhilarating  companion.  In  the 
machine  shop  he  knew  his  job  ;  out  of  it  he  knew  nothing, 
except  that  this  was  "  an  'oliday,"  and  he  thought  it 
was  time  he  got  married.  He  had  made  his  effort  at 
wooing  Sally  for  the  last  few  weeks.  That  is,  he  had 
made  up  his  mind,  and  had  no  doubt  of  hers.  Two  pounds 
a  week  was  good  money.  The  chaff  of  the  girls  had  con- 
solidated his  position.  That  she  had  shared  his  meal  and 
his  stout  made  the  engagement  as  definite  to  him  as  an 
announcement  in  the  "Morning  Post."  He  liked  to  have 
Sal  Snape  sitting  by  him  under  the  trees  in  the  sun ;  he 
had  nothing  to  say,  so  he  abstained  from  conversation. 
Sal  would  know  "they  was  enjoyin'  themselves."  The 
beer,  the  jolting  of  the  omnibus  in  the  open  air,  the  un- 
wonted leisure,  made  him  feel  drowsy.  So  he  drowsed. 
And  Sally,  as  she  sat  beside  him,  thought  she  would  just  as 
soon  be  cutting  up  gherkins. 

35 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Mr.  Peastone,  arm-in-arm  with  Alf,  took  off  his  hat 
with  a  flourish. 

"  Mr.  Cullen,  I  believe  ?  "  he  said  to  Luke. 

Luke  admitted  his  identity  by  nodding  his  head. 

"  I  thought  you  would  not  object  if  me  and  my  friend 
joined  your  party.  Perhaps  your  good  lady,  however, 
prefers  a  t&te-d,-t£te" 

T&te-drt&te  was  a  fine  touch.  Alf's  admiration  grew 
momentarily. 

"  You're  welcome,  sirs,"  said  Luke.  He  recognized  the 
superiority  of  the  black  coat;  it  was  Mr.  Peastone,  too, 
who  paid  him  his  wages.  The  clerk  occupied  the  same 
part  of  the  great  premises  as  the  principals,  and  something 
of  their  sanctity  rested  upon  his  narrow  shoulders. 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  dogcart,"  said  Sally  simply.  She 
had  admired  his  dashing  air,  his  red  satin  tie,  his  rakish 
hat ;  to  her,  too,  he  was  quite  a  swell. 

"Well,  now,  that  makes  me  feel  proud.  So  you  noticed 
me?  We  came  along  at  a  good  rate,  didn't  we?  I  may 
introduce  my  friend,  Mr.  Alfred  Stevens  ?  " 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Luke.  He  found  them 
"  affable  gents." 

Charlie  Peastone  was  always  considered  good  company ; 
he  sat  down  on  the  grass  and  proceeded  to  prove  his 
quality. 

"  You've  had  your  dinner,  I  see." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  see,  for  the  debris  was  in  the 
paper  at  their  feet,  and  two  beer  bottles  were  stuck  in  the 
fork  of  the  tree  under  which  they  were  sitting.  "  We  had 
ours  at  a  restaurong."  ("Good  for  you  again,"  thought 
Alf,  "  I  should  have  called  it  a  pub.") 

''That's  what  I  say,  if  you're  on  a  spree,  go  the  whole 
hog — I  don't  mean  bacon!  My  friend  here,  he's  such  a  wag, 
I've  got  to  hurry  or  he'd  have  been  out  with  that  joke 

36 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

before  me.  But  we  can't  be  happy  without  the  ladies. 
Who  was  that  friend  of  yours,  a  pretty  girl  with  a  blue 
feather  ?  I  know  a  prettier  one  though  ! " 

He  expected  that  to  have  an  effect,  but  it  missed  fire, 
because,  till  now,  Sally  had  not  realized  that  her  person 
was  attractive. 

"  She  and  me  are  great  chums ;  it's  Mary  Murray,  you 
mean,  she's  got  a  green  blouse  on." 

"  That's  her,"  put  in  Alf  eagerly. 

Charlie  winked  at  him,  and  then  at  Sally,  who  liked 
being  taken  into  his  confidence  that  way. 

"  He  knows,  you  see.  Now  I  wager  he  can  tell  you  to 
a  shoestring  what  she'd  got  on,  and  where  she  got  it.  As 
for  me,  I  don't  care  what  a  girl's  got  outside ;  it's  what 
she  keeps  inside  that  matters.  I'd  rather  have  a  pretty 
girl  in  an  ugly  hat  than  an,  ugly  girl  in  a  pretty  hat.  What 
do  you  say,  miss  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  put  it  the  other  way.  Do  you  care  what  a  fellow 
has  got  on  ?  " 

She  had  not  cared,  but  now  she  looked  at  Charlie,  and 
from  Charlie's  broadcloth  to  Luke's  fustian,  and  she  thought 
she  did  care.  Charlie  caught  her  contrasting  glance,  and 
her  eye.  Then  he  laughed,  and  she  with  him.  What  a 
set  of  grinders  the  girl  had,  so  small  and  even !  The  dimple 
in  her  cheek  came  out  when  she  smiled,  and  her  green  eyes 
sparkled. 

"Well,  we  won't  press  the  point,"  he  said  politely. 
But  he  need  not  have  been  careful  of  Luke's  feelings,  for 
Luke  had  missed  the  glances  and  the  by-play ;  he  was 
growing  sleepier.  He  liked  hearing  them  talk,  it  had  a 
holiday  air  about  it.  He  settled  himself  comfortSJfbly 
against  the  tree,  and  presently,  in  the  midst  of  the  fun, 
fell  asleep. 

37 


THE   HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

For,  of  course,  they  had  fun.  Mary,  seeing  Sally  so  well 
occupied,  with  two  gentlemen,  as  well  as  Luke  Cullen, 
came  over,  full  of  curiosity  to  see  what  was  going  on.  She 
too,  it  appeared,  had  noticed  the  dogcart.  She  and  Alf 
fell  in  love  with  each  other  almost  at  first  sight.  Whilst 
Charlie  was  "making  things  go,"  cracking  jokes,  telling 
anecdotes,  paying  compliments,  getting  more  smiles  and 
dimples  and  admiration  from  Sally,  Alf  and  Mary  were 
eyeing  each  other  timorously,  venturing  on  sentences  that 
never  had  an  end,  finding  mutual  shyness ;  quite  in  agree- 
ment about  the  weather,  sympathetic  over  trifles.  Of 
course  it  was  Charlie  who  made  the  first  move,  but  Alf  and 
Mary  rose  very  willingly  to  join  in  a  walk.  Luke,  by  this 
time,  had  completely  surrendered  himself  to  slumber.  The 
party  arranged  itself  naturally  in  pairs. 

Sally  had  never  met  any  one  so  brilliant  as  Charlie 
Peastone.  He  had  graduated  at  bars  and  buffets,  where 
his  fluent  persiflage  met  with  quick  response.  Sally  knew 
nothing  of  the  give  and  take  of  social  intercourse.  He  had 
to  do  all  the  talking.  But  perhaps  he  enjoyed  his  walk 
the  more  on  that  account,  and  of  course,  he  felt  the  admira- 
tion he  was  exciting.  Sally  thought  he  was  a  gentleman ; 
she  was  exhilarated  by  her  rise  in  the  social  sphere.  She 
caught  envious  glances  from  the  other  girls.  Mary  Murray 
and  she  were  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  She  wished  now 
that  she  had  taken  more  pains  with  her  dress ;  she  wished 
she  were  as  genteel  as  Mary.  She  felt  that  dissatisfaction 
with  herself  which  is  the  first  change  on  the  horizon,  pre- 
ceding the  dawn  of  love.  She  thought  about  herself  all 
the  time.  Perhaps,  if  Charlie's  exuberant  fluency  had 
had  ebb  and  flow  he  might  have  found  her  dull,  as  she  had 
found  Luke  Cullen.  But  there  was  no  ebb  to  Charlie's 
speech. 

The  red  hair,  the  green  eyes,  the  lithe  figure  under  the 

38 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

cheap  blouse,  caught  him  and  held  him.  He  did  not  forget 
that  she  was  a  factory  girl  and  he  a  clerk,  but  he  was  very 
much  attracted.  He  had  to  admit  to  Alf  that  he  was  very 
much  attracted,  because  he  wanted  Alf  to  do  him  a  favour. 

"  I'll  do  as  much  for  you  one  day,  old  man.  One  good 
turn  deserves  another,  and  you've  got  the  first  chance. 
It'll  be  a  treat  for  her,  sort  of  landmark,  don't  you  know, 
quite  out  of  the  common.  I  want  you  to  let  me  drive  her 
back  to  town  ;  evening,  don't  you  know,  and  stars,  dash 
of  sentiment,  you  twig  the  sort  of  thing,  '  on  such  a  night 
as  this ' ;  it's  no  end  of  a  spree.  I  haven't  mentioned  it 
to  her  yet,  but  you  won't  play  dog-in-the-manger,"  Charlie 
urged. 

Alf  was  never  selfish,  and,  in  truth,  not  averse  to  the 
proposition.  He  guessed  at  Charlie's  driving  powers  pretty 
well.  They  had  come  along  all  right,  but  now  it  was  dusk. 
He  could  be  very  safe  and  comfortable  in  the  omnibus. 
He  would  have  Sally's  place,  next  to  Mary.  She  was  a 
very  nice  girl,  she  seemed  to  understand  him,  and  already 
he  knew  that  her  people  were  gentlefolk,  that  she  had 
seen  better  days.  It  is  possible  that  the  piano  had  been 
actual,  and  not  potential,  in  Mary's  narrative. 

He  demurred  a  little,  nevertheless,  in  order  to  make  his 
acquiescence  more  valued. 

"  A  nice  idea,  bringing  me  here,  and  leaving  me  to  get 
home  as  best  I  may.  And  I  suppose  I'm  to  pay  my  half- 
share  all  the  same  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  If  that's  all,  I  don't  mind  settling  two-thirds 
to  your  one.  And  you'll  get  home  all  right,  almost  as  quick 
as  we  shall."  He  was  really  anxious  about  it ;  he  urged  the 
many  advantages  of  the  arrangement. 

"And  how  about  that  fellow  she  was  having  dinner 
with?"  Alf  asked. 

"Oh,  he's  very  fuddled ;  he's  had  beer  with  his  dinner, 

39 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

and  beer  with  his  tea,  and  a  drop  of  it  between  whiles. 
I've  been  over  to  look  at  him ;  he's  still  asleep  under  the 
tree.  "When  the  time  comes  some  one  will  haul  him  into 
a  seat,  and  he  won't  miss  Sally.  He  is  nothing  to  her,  she 
told  me  so  herself." 

"All  right.  But,  mind,  I  shan't  pay  more  than  one- 
third.  Don't  try  and  get  out  of  that  to-morrow." 

"Not  likely." 

He  went  off  whistling.  What  a  spree  to  drive  Sally 
home  in  the  dusk  1 


CHAPTER  III 

JT  was  indeed  the  day  of  her  life  for  Sally  Snape.    Charlie 
put  his  proposal  in  good  form. 

u  Will  you  honour  me  by  accepting  a  seat  beside  me  in 
the  phaeton  ?  "  he  said  when  he  returned  from  his  inter- 
view with  Alfred.  "  My  pal  prefers  the  bus ;  he  seems 
taken  with  that  friend  of  yours  —  Miss  Murray,  isn't  it  ? 
I  hope  you  are  not  afraid  to  trust  yourself  with  me." 

"  Me !     I'm  not  afraid  of  anything." 

Sally  was  very  flattered,  very  excited,  very  happy.  She 
was  glad  Mary  had  found  some  one  she  could  "  take  to." 
The  gentility  of  Alfred  was  as  definite  as  the  gallantry 
and  dash  of  Charlie.  Each  girl  had  found  the  man  that 
suited  her.  Charlie  cracked  jokes  with  everybody.  His 
compliments  to  Sally  began  to  make  her  think  she  must  be 
good-looking  after  all.  His  red  necktie,  his  bowler  hat, 
worn  on  the  side  of  his  head,  rakishly,  the  pair  of  yellow- 
red  driving  gloves  he  produced,  made  a  great  impression 
upon  her.  He  seemed  a  very  fine  gentleman  indeed  by  the 
side  of  Luke  Cullen,  who  appeared,  just  before  she  was 
mounting  the  step  of  the  dogcart,  and  wanted  to  know 
"  wot  she  was  doin'  of." 

"  Miss  Snape  is  honouring  me  with  her  company  for  the 
drive  home,"  Charlie  explained  gaily.  "  You  can't  have 
all  the  sweets  for  yourself,  you  know ;  she  came  down 
with  you,  she  goes  back  with  me ;  that's  fair.  Up  with 
you,  Miss  Snape.  So  long,  Cullen,  see  you  to-morrow,  fit 
as  ever  I" 

•  4* 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Sally  got  into  the  dogcart  nimbly,  and  Charlie  climbed 
up  after  her,  gathering  the  reins  together  in  masterly 
fashion,  so  masterly,  in  fact,  that  the  ostler,  who  stood  by 
the  horse's  head,  grinned  from  ear  to  ear.  "  Drunk  as  a 
lord,"  he  said  to  himself,  forming  his  wrong  conclusion 
hastily.  But,  seeing  him  with  red-haired  Sally  by  his  side, 
the  ostler  had  a  spasm  of  envy. 

It  was  all  very  well  as  long  as  Charlie's  vaulting  ambi- 
tion had  not  developed  itself.  But,  either  he  got  tired 
of  jogging  behind  the  omnibuses,  or  the  broken-winded, 
spavined  old  horse  got  spurred  by  his  imagination,  they 
were  very  near  London,  so  perhaps  he  scented  his  home  and 
oats.  Anyway,  they  were  no  longer  entrenched  behind 
the  safety  of  the  procession  of  other  merry-makers  when 
Lady  Dorothea  Lytham,  driving  her  new  40-horse-power 
Panhard  with  her  habitual  courageous  incapacity,  suddenly 
appeared  before  their  startled  eyes,  with  no  more  idea  of 
how  to  apply  her  brake  than  Charlie  had  of  how  to  pull  up 
his  horse.  He  frantically  tugged  at  the  reins,  the  chauf- 
feur frantically  put  his  hand  over  Lady  Dorothea's,  on  the 
wheel.  But  neither  was  in  time  to  avert  catastrophe. 
Lady  Dorothea  was  smiling  into  Sally's  startled  eyes 
one  moment,  and  the  next  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  — 
smash ! 

She  had  no  idea  what  she  had  done,  or  what  had  hap- 
pened, who  was  hurt,  or  what  was  broken.  She  was  still 
sitting  grasping  the  wheel,  she  was  probably  even  still  smil- 
ing, for  the  impact  found  her  so,  and,  being  an  Irish  girl, 
and  irresponsible,  even  beyond  her  country's  ways,  it  was  not 
likely  that  smashing  up  a  dogcart  was  going  to  scare  her. 

But  the  chauffeur  jumped  out,  there  was  something  lying 
in  the  roadway  ;  something  that  had  not  been  there  before. 
Lady  Dorothea's  graceful  length  quickly  detached  itself 
from  the  driver's  seat.  The  trembling  horse  had  recovered 

42 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

his  feet  and  was  struggling  between   the  broken  shafts; 
Charlie  and  Sally  had  both  been  flung  out. 

Charlie  had  come  to  no  harm ;  he  was  shaken  and 
bruised  and  hideously  frightened,  but  that  was  all.  Sally 
lay  where  she  had  been  flung,  her  head  on  the  pavement, 
and  her  body  in  the  road.  In  the  light  of  the  acetylene 
lamps  of  the  motor  she  looked  ghastly  white  and  stricken. 
Lady  Dorothea  did  not  see  her  attractiveness  then,  or  ever, 
although  she  had  in  the  end  to  admit  its  existence.  Per- 
haps their  first  introduction  was  responsible  for  her  subse- 
quent blindness. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  a  bad  job,  your  ladyship,"  said  the 
chauffeur.  He  had  been  with  Lady  Dorothea  for  some 
time  now,  but  her  freaks  never  ceased  to  astonish  him. 
Colonel  Fellowes  had  said  at  lunch  yesterday :  t(  No  woman 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  drive  a  high-speed  car;  there 
should  be  a  law  against  it."  The  butler  had  told  him  that, 
and,  of  course,  both  he  and  the  butler  knew  that  that  was 
quite  sufficient  to  tempt  her  ladyship  to  the  experiment. 
But  why  she  had  made  her  first  attempt  in  the  dusk,  and 
in  the  City  Road,  puzzled  him.  Lady  Dorothea  was 
rather  baffling.  Her  husband,  after  a  few  bewildered 
years,  had  abandoned  the  effort  to  unravel  her,  and  had 
returned  from  the  South  African  campaign  to  his  fastness 
on  the  Forth.  Colonel  Fellowes  was  still  undaunted ;  but 
then,  he  had  never  had  any  illusions  about  Lady  Dorothea. 
He  had  known  her  before  her  marriage. 

"  You  don't  think  she  is  dead  ?  " 

"  She  looks  very  bad,  your  ladyship,"  the  chauffeur 
answered  gravely. 

"  It  was  not  my  fault ;  you  ought  to  have  sounded  your 
horn,"  Charlie  exclaimed  agitatedly. 

"  Oh,  you  think  I  ought  to  have  sounded  my  horn  ? " 
Lady  Dorothea  said  insolently. 

43 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

She  had  no  concern  with  the  ashen  little  cad  in  his  red 
tie,  but  she  knelt  on  the  ground  beside  Sally,  felt  her, 
spoke  to  her,  tried  to  rouse  her. 

"  She  isn't  dead,"  she  said  abruptly,  rising  quickly. 
"  We  must  fix  her  up  in  the  car  somehow,  and  take  her  to 
the  nearest  doctor.  Stop  that  Pickford's  van :  ask  whether 
there  isn't  a  doctor  or  a  hospital  near." 

The  Pickford's  van  man  was  both  sympathetic  and  help- 
ful. It  seemed,  too,  that  he  had  had  "  first  aid  "  lessons  : 

"  She's  broke  her  leg  and  'urt  her  head,  concussion  from 
the  looks  of  her.  Best  let  me  take  her  in  the  van,  ma'am ; 
she  can  lie  flat  there ;  it's  empty.  We  were  goin'  'ome. 
We'll  take  her  off  to  the  London  Hospital;  we  can  get 
there  in  twenty  minutes,  and  they'll  know  just  wot  to  do. 
I  took  a  pore  chap  there  last  week,  and  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  the  people  you've  taken  there 
before,  my  good  man.  What  does  that  matter  to  me  ? 
Here's  five  shillings  for  you.  Don't  lift  her  in  until  I've 
gone,  she  might  cry  out.  I  should  hate  to  hear  her  cry 
out.  Come,  Carter,  start  the  car.  You  can  drive,  I've 
had  enough  of  this,  I  want  to  get  home." 

Now  a  couple  of  belated  policemen  arrived  ineffectively, 
and  began  taking  dilatory  notes.  It  was  the  handsome 
motor  and  its  charming  driver  that  attracted  their  imme- 
diate attention,  not  Sally  on  the  pavement. 

"  Oh  !  who  am  I  ?  my  card  ?  I  haven't  got  a  card  — 
at  least,  I  don't  know  where  I  put  it.  I'm  Lady  Dorothea 
Lytham,  of  Curzon  Street.  I'll  send  round  in  the  morning 
and  hear  how  she  is.  The  man  who  ran  into  me  will  tell 
you  all  about  it.  Get  on,  Carter ;  I  know  she  is  going  to 
scream." 

Carter  set  his  car  going,  he  gladly  took  the  wheel,  with 
a  whizz  and  a  toot  they  were  off.  Lady  Dorothea  had 
shifted  all  the  burden  of  the  accident,  and  the  injured 

44 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

girl,  on  to  other  shoulders;  hers  were  too  graceful  for 
bearing  burdens. 

And,  somehow  or  other,  the  task  was  accomplished,  after 
a  little  desultory  conversation  and  some  delay.  The  still 
unconscious  Sally  was  made  as  comfortable  as  circum- 
stances would  allow,  and  lifted  into  the  van.  The  van 
boy  was  spared  to  take  his  place  beside  the  shaken, 
humbled  Charlie,  and  gingerly  to  drive  the  disjointed 
dogcart  to  the  stable.  The  debris  of  the  accident  was  soon 
removed. 

Sally  awoke,  somewhat  later,  to  a  painful  semi-conscious- 
ness in  a  room  hideously  painted,  small  and  bare.  Her 
glazed  eyes  were  caught  by  a  sort  of  wheel  that  faced  the 
stretcher-bed  in  which  she  lay,  with  wires  hanging  from  it. 
The  steel  intricacies  hurt  her,  she  kept  closing  and  open- 
ing her  eyes,  but  it  was  always  there,  making  her  head 
ache.  Her  head  ached  so  fearfully  that  the  pain  she  felt 
in  her  leg  was  almost  good  by  comparison. 

Once,  when  she  opened  her  eyes,  there  was  another  pair, 
behind  glasses,  looking  at  her. 

"  Wot's  that  'ere  ? "  she  asked  feebly,  indicating  the 
wheel. 

"  Oh  !  that  ?     That's  the  Eontgen  rays." 

"Take  it  away,  it's  'urting  my  head." 

"We'll  take  you  away  from  it,  that's  simpler." 

The  house  surgeon,  he  was  little  more  than  a  boy,  was 
running  hand  and  eye  over  her  quickly,  diagnosing,  settling 
what  was  to  be  done. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it,  it  was  a  case  they 
must  take  in.  Now  he  had  to  telephone  upstairs  for  a 
vacant  bed,  and  summon  a  surgeon  from  Harley  Street. 
All  the  machinery  of  the  great  institution  was  quickly  put 
in  motion  to  relieve  Sally  Snape,  half-unconscious  Sally. 
She  was  wheeled  on  the  stretcher  to  the  lift,  wheeled  along 

45 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

the  polished  floor  to  the  ward,  and  lifted  by  two  men,  very 
tenderly,  from  the  stretcher  to  the  bed. 

Then  it  was  the  women's  turn.  Sister  Aglove  came  to 
look  and  direct,  Nurse  Hall  and  Nurse  Darling  to  undress 
and  prepare.  Sleepy  and  querulous  patients  found  a 
moment's  inquisitiveness  to  spare  from  their  own  troubles, 
but  the  ward  was  soon  hushed  again  in  its  selfishness  of 
suffering.  Dr.  Grim  gave  his  brief  information : 

"  She  has  been  thrown  out  of  a  dogcart,  the  right  fibia 
is  broken,  there  seems  to  be  some  head  injury,  not  a 
fracture.  I  have  sent  for  Mr.  Farrant,  he  will  set  her  leg 
here  when  he  comes ;  chloroform  won't  be  needed.  .  .  ." 

They  undressed  her  so  gently  that  she  did  not  feel  their 
ministrations.  Her  moans  were  quite  unconscious,  in- 
voluntary ;  she  knew  her  head  ached  fearfully,  but  she 
did  not  mean  to  moan.  They  found  her  cold,  and  put  a 
hot- water  bottle  to  her  feet;  all  that  could  be  done  was 
done  for  her  before  the  surgeon  came. 

It  was  many  days  before  Sally  recovered  sufficiently 
from  the  concussion  to  recognize  her  surroundings,  to  note, 
with  her  bright  incurious  eyes,  all  the  routine  of  the  hos- 
pital. Her  case  was  not  particularly  interesting ;  a  simple 
fracture  of  the  leg,  a  slight  concussion  of  the  brain,  no 
febrile  or  untoward  symptoms.  Yet,  somehow  or  other, 
Mr.  Farrant  lingered  by  her  bed,  and  young  Dr.  Grim, 
the  house  surgeon,  found  himself  impelled  two  or  three 
times  a  day  to  her  side. 

The  nurses  had  cleaned  and  tidied  her  until  she  was 
almost  unrecognizable.  Sally  found  herself  often  gazing 
at  her  hands  and  nails.  The  hands  looked  white  and  small, 
the  nails  clean  and  short,  they  were  like  ladies'  hands. 
Sally  admired  them,  she  knew  now  she  would  always  keep 
them  like  this.  Her  hair  had  been  brushed  and  combed 
until  it  shone  like  red  gold ;  it  was  parted,  and  two  great 

46 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

plaited  ropes  lay  on  either  side  of  her  face.  It  was  a  pity 
the  hospital  costume  was  of  red  flannel ;  with  green 
or  with  blue  the  effect  would  have  been  superb.  As  it 
was,  it  was  only  remarkable.  The  small  face,  with  its  green 
eyes  and  red  lips,  upturned  nose  and  pallor,  was  unlike  all 
the  other  faces  that  lay  on  the  pillows,  lacking  the  fram- 
ing of  hair  and  the  indefinable  attractiveness. 

On  visiting  days  Sally's  bed  was  surrounded.  Johnny 
came  and  brought  her  oranges ;  Sandy  Kirk,  to  whom  it 
was  all  familiar,  remembered  it  was  peppermint  drops  that 
had  brought  him  most  solace,  and  smuggled  in  a  generous 
supply.  Mary  Murray  came  on  Sundays,  looking  each 
week  prettier,  happier,  less  anaemic.  Flowers  were  her 
gift,  and  it  always  seemed  as  if  she  had  something  to  tell 
Sally,  confidences  to  impart;  but  they  were  never  alone. 
Luke  Cullen  came  once,  and  sat  by  her  bed  for  a  solid  hour, 
saying  nothing  at  all,  bringing  no  gift,  conscious  of  his 
two  pounds  a  week,  forgetting  he  had  not  offered  it, 
considering  it  and  himself  as  accepted.  Finally,  Charlie 
Peastone  came,  after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three  weeks,  in 
a  frock-coat  and  a  bowler  hat,  pale  lemon  gloves,  and  a 
very  jaunty  manner.  He  did  not  think  people  like  him- 
self were  often  seen  in  hospitals.  He  was  extraordinarily 
nervous,  and  chaffed  the  porter  who  let  him  in,  and  the 
sad-faced,  weary  people  who  waited  with  him.  He  brought 
Sally  a  bunch  of  roses  and  some  new  slang.  She  had 
the  comparison  with  the  doctors  now,  and  a  whole  set  of 
new  standards.  She  did  not  appreciate  his  jocularity  or 
his  visit.  She  resented  him. 

People  of  extraordinary  physical  vitality,  of  really  fine 
health  and  flawless  constitution,  resent  pain  or  illness  in 
themselves  or  others.  They  look  upon  it  as  something 
of  a  degradation,  a  personal  offence;  they  want  to  run 
away  from  it,  cover  it  up,  forget  it.  This  hatred  or  con- 

47 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

tempt  of  illness  is  an  entirely  pure  instinct,  it  is  a  reti- 
cence of  the  body,  a  noli  me  tangere  of  the  soul.  It  was 
this  that  Charlie  Peastone  had  done  to  her,  he  had  de- 
graded her.  It  was  through  him  that  she  had  headaches, 
and  was  forced  to  bear  the  handling  of  the  doctors  and 
nurses,  through  him  she  had  lost  sleep,  and  now  was 
unable  to  move.  That,  in  the  main,  she  was  happy  and 
content  here  did  not  soften  her  toward  him.  Her  marred 
body  was  his  doing;  all  the  time  she  had  lain  ill  she 
felt  the  poignancy  of  her  anger  against  him.  She  did 
not  reason,  none  of  her  resentment  was  based  on  reason. 
But  he  had  done  this  thing  to  her,  and  she  hated 
him,  and  his  talkin'  ways,  and  their  hours  together. 
Now  his  jocularity  was  unbearable.  She  did  not  want  his 
flowers  or  his  gallant  allusions.  Luke  Cullen's  silence, 
Johnny  Doone's  corduroys,  both  suited  her  better.  So 
she  was  silent  and  sullen  during  Charlie's  visit,  and  even 
the  news  he  brought  her,  that  the  firm  would  keep  her 
place  open  for  her,  and  would  pay  her  half  wages  as 
long  as  she  was  on  the  sick  list,  did  not  incline  her 
more  favourably  toward  him.  But  then,  it  was  not 
news  to  her,  for  the  forewoman  had  written,  and  Mary 
Murray  had  verbally  confirmed  the  letter. 

It  was  on  the  non-visiting  days  that  Sally  Snape  re- 
ceived the  visits  which  interested  her.  Of  course,  she  was 
glad  of  Johnny  and  Sandy.  She  was  not  one  to  forget  old 
friends.  But,  somehow,  her  new  cleanliness,  regularity, 
order,  coming  at  the  end  of  her  year  at  the  factory  and 
the  continuation  school,  awoke  in  her  some  latent  restless- 
ness or  ambition.  Her  clean  white  hands  were  never  out 
of  her  sight,  they  were  transforming  her  world. 

Ursula  Kugeley,  busying  herself  ahvays  on  the  border- 
land of  philanthropy,  had  an  unofficial  post  in  connection 
with  the  hospital.  She  read  and  talked  to  the  patients  in 

48 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Sally's  ward.  And  just  now  Sally  wanted  to  be  read  and 
talked  to.  She  had  grown  used  to  Ursula,  and,  in  a  sort 
of  odd  way,  the  two  understood  each  other.  Sally  had 
the  capacity  for  both  gratitude  and  friendship.  Through 
Ursula  she  had  left  Limehouse  and  the  tailoring;  in 
laborious  ways  she  had  learnt  to  hold  her  own  with 
Mary  Murray  in  writing  and  cyphering.  In  those  indus- 
trious evenings  she  had  acquired  other  things  besides  writing 
and  cyphering.  She  had  learnt,  sometimes,  in  a  phrase  or 
two,  she  thought  she  had  almost  caught,  the  way  gentle- 
folk speak.  Now  that  this  personal  cleanliness  had  come  to 
her,  and  so  strangely  affected  her,  she  recognized  what 
the  quality  was  she  had  admired  in  Ursula  and  her  teachers. 
She  had  a  somewhat  contemptuous,  vague  understanding 
of  Ursula's  pursuit  of  charity  as  a  fad  and  refuge  from 
the  tedium  of  her  single  life,  but  the  knowledge  did  not 
in  the  least  prevent  her  benefiting  by  it.  She  looked 
for  Ursula's  coming,  she  liked  to  make  her  talk,  she  asked 
her  questions.  Until  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham  came  to  see 
her,  in  a  sudden  mood  of  graciousness  and  revived  memory, 
it  was  upon  the  prim  and  charitable  Ursula  that  Sally 
Snape  was  unconsciously  modelling  herself. 

Lady  Dorothea  over-rode  rules  and  regulations,  captur- 
ing porters,  hospital  secretary,  and  visiting  doctors.  She 
wanted  to  see  a  patient,  she  did  not  know  the  patient's 
name.  She  had  run  over  her,  or  been  run  over  by  her. 
How  long  ago?  She  did  not  remember.  Her  chauffeur 
would  remember ;  he  was  outside.  Oh  yes,  she  must  see 
the  invalid,  she  had  brought  her  some  flowers,  white  lilac 
and  gloire  de  Dijon  roses. 

After  all,   she  was   Lady   Dorothea  Lytham,   and  had 

driven  up  in  her  finest  of  motors,  and  was  tall  and  radiant 

in  her  ermine  and  young  beauty,  she  gained  her  way,  as 

she  had  a  habit  of  gaining  it.     Porters  and  doctors  and 

E  49 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

secretaries  aided  her  memory,  and  soon  a  selection  of  them 
escorted  her  to  Sally  Snape's  bed.  It  was  she  who  made 
that  observation  about  the  incongruity  of  the  red  hair  and 
the  red  flannel  dressing-gown.  She  said  she  would  bring 
her  some  green  or  blue  stuff  instead,  and,  although  she 
forgot  all  about  it  immediately  afterwards,  everybody 
thought  it  extraordinarily  kind  of  her.  And  the  flowers 
scented  the  whole  ward,  getting  past  iodoform  and  liniment, 
and  making  their  own  record. 

"I'm  so  sorry  I  ran  into  you,  or  you  ran  into  me;  we 
never  quite  knew  which  it  was,"  she  began,  when  she  got 
to  the  bedside.  Ursula  Rugeley  was  sitting  beside  it,  a 
very  dim  figure  beside  this  brilliant  one. 

Dorothea  had  a  bird  of  paradise  in  her  hat ;  it  was  a 
very  daring  millinery  feat.  She  wore  it  because  she  had 
been  asked  to  join  some  league  about  birds  and  aigrettes, 
she  forgot  exactly  what  it  was,  but  she  knew  she  had 
thought  it  great  impertinence  of  the  woman  who  asked 
her.  And  ever  since  then  she  had  worn  nothing  but  birds 
and  aigrettes.  Her  manner  was  amazingly  familiar;  it 
was  only  if  one  took  advantage  of  it  that  one  realized  it 
was  founded  on  colossal  race  vanity.  The  distance  between 
the  Desmonds,  Lady  Dorothea  had  been  a  Desmond, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  world  was  unbridgable ;  therefore 
Lady  Dorothea  could  waft  her  familiarities  across  the  line, 
but  no  breeze  could  bring  back  the  echo  to  where  she  stood 
among  her  ancestors.  It  was  a  curious  mental  attitude. 
Drunken,  dissolute,  degenerate,  the  reigning  Desmond  had 
nevertheless  the  same  point  of  view.  He  lived  on  the  ill- 
gained  gold  of  the  creature  he  had  married,  and  yet  managed 
to  be  proud  of  his  birth  and  position.  Dorothea  was  the 
youngest  of  the  family  —  two  sisters  had  passed  the  ordeal 
of  the  divorce  court;  Lady  Dorothea  might  eventually 
follow  in  their  footsteps.  But  they  were  all  Desmonds; 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

they,  not  less  than  the  one  who  had  married  the  Duke  of 
Ebrington  and  maintained  his  rank.  It  was  rooted  in 
them,  that  the  fact  set  them  apart. 

"What  extraordinary  hair  you've  got.  Do  you  plait  it 
yourself  ?  May  I  sit  down  ?  " 

She  displaced  Ursula  gracefully  : 

"  What  a  strange  place !  Why  do  they  have  all  these 
beds  alike,  and  those  horrid  basins  ?  Oh  no,  don't  wait, 
Mr.  Evelyn,  I  want  to  talk  to  Sally.  Sally  is  the  name  of  the 
orang-outang  at  the  Zoo.  I  declare,  I  think  you  have  some- 
thing the  same  shaped  face.  Awfully  dull  here,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"I'm  not  dull,"  said  Sally  simply.  She  loved  the  luxu- 
riance of  her  visitor's  clothes,  her  gay,  light  manner ;  she 
liked  her  impudence  and  familiarity.  Sally,  who  never 
gained  the  trick  of  easy  speech,  admired  immeasurably  this 
flowing  talk.  It  was  very  different  from  Charlie  Pea- 
stone's  banter;  she  felt  the  difference  in  every  excited 
fibre  of  her  as  Lady  Dorothea  sat  there  in  her  ermine  stole 
and  brilliant  hat,  and  yet  more  brilliant  beauty,  and  asked 
questions : 

"They  tell  me  you  are  in  a  jam  factory.  That  must 
be  great  fun;  I  love  jam.  I'll  come  and  see  you  one  day, 
and  taste  it  while  it's  hot.  But  you  oughtn't  to  be  making 
jam ;  with  hair  like  that  you  ought  to  be  trying  on  hats, 
making  people  buy  what  doesn't  suit  them  because  they 
think  they  are  going  to  look  like  you.  One  of  my  pals 
keeps  a  hat  shop;  she  sells  blouses  and  things  too.  I'm 
sure  you'd  like  that  better  than  jam.  Shall  I  try  and 
get  her  to  take  you?" 

Sally's  eyes  sparkled,  then  her  lids  fell ;  she  was  still 
quite  humble : 

"  Could  I  ?     Oh  1  ma'am,  oh !  my  lady  .  .  ." 

Ursula  had  been  listening ;  she  seized  on  such  a  chance 
for  her  protegee. 

5' 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Of  course  you  could.  You  might  need  a  little  train- 
ing. .  .  ." 

Dorothea's  hereditary  insolence  was  in  the  look  she 
turned  on  the  speaker. 

"  Who  is  this  lady  ?    A  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

She  asked  about  Ursula  as  if  she  too  were  in  a  pickle  fac- 
tory. She  treated  the  explanation  of  Ursula's  position  at 
the  bedside  as  if  there  were  no  intrinsic  difference  between 
philanthropy  and  factory  work ;  both  were  such  a  long 
way  off  the  Desmonds.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  took 
Ursula  into  her  confidence  about  Sally,  and  her  hair, 
and  her  fitness  for  the  show-room.  The  idea  was  a 
freak  of  the  imagination.  Carrying  it  into  execution 
would  need  a  sustained  effort  quite  beyond  her.  She  had 
so  many  things  to  do,  she  was  in  a  hurry  already.  But  this 
woman  would  go  to  Brook  Street ;  she  could  not  have  any- 
thing else  to  do  —  no  calls  of  society,  or  anything  of  that  sort : 

"  I'll  give  you  my  card,  and  then  you'll  write,  or,  better 
still,  go  and  see  Vi.  Here  .  .  ."  She  wrote  a  few  words 
on  a  card. 

The  jewelled  case,  the  jewelled  pencil,  the  quick  action 
following  the  quick  thought,  were  all  wonderful  to  the 
red-flannelled,  wide-eyed  invalid  on  the  bed. 

"  It's  to  Vi  Farquharson ;  her  shop  is  in  Brook  Street. 
I  get  no  end  of  my  things  there.  Tell  her  I  insist  upon  it. 
And  I'll  come  and  buy  some  new  hats  as  soon  as  Sally  is 
installed.  I  must  go  now;  I've  a  man  coming  to  lunch 
with  me.  Let  her  come  and  see  me  when  she  leaves  the 
hospital,  before  she  goes  to  Vi's." 

Then  she  turned  to  Sally. 

"  When  you  are  in  Brook  Street  I'll  come  and  buy 
from  you  the  chicest,  newest  hat  they've  got.  It  doesn't 
matter  if  it  is  bizarre,  I  can  wear  anything.  And  it 
doesn't  matter  what  they  charge,  because  I  never  pay ! " 

52 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

She  laughed  as  she  rose ;  she  had  a  delightful  laugh.  She 
shook  hands  with  Sally  and  nodded  to  Ursula.  Every- 
thing she  did  had  a  certain  grace  and  charm  about  it, 
though  one  felt  that  Puck  was  lurking  in  her  tip-tilted  nose, 
and  in  the  eyebrows  with  the  upward  curve. 

Lady  Dorothea  left  Sally  breathless,  and  excited,  her 
heart  beating  quickly,  and  her  pulses  bounding.  Now 
her  slow-healing  leg  maddened  her.  Life  was  opening, 
her  chance  had  come,  and  she  could  not  move. 

"  Oh !  how  long  will  it  be  ?  Cannot  you  do  something 
to  make  it  heal  quicker  ?  "  she  implored  the  doctor,  at  his 
evening  visit.  She  had  a  feverish  night,  but  the  next  day 
Ursula  Kugeley  came  to  her  again,  calming  and  quieting 
her.  Ursula  told  her  how  much  there  was  she  could  do 
whilst  lying  on  her  back.  She  must  learn  finer  needle- 
work, she  should  read  a  little,  she  ought  to  try  to  improve 
her  speech.  There  was  a  standard,  almost  of  elegance, 
required  in  a  West  End  shop.  Sally  was  not  afraid  that 
she  would  not  be  able  to  pick  up  any  trick  that  was  wanted ; 
she  knew  her  acquisitive  powers.  But  she  did  all  that 
Ursula  told  her,  and  work  calmed  her.  The  nurses  helped 
her,  everybody  sympathized  with  her,  and  helped  to  make 
the  waiting  time  less  long. 

Ursula  went  to  Madame  Violetta's  in  Brook  Street, 
presenting  Lady  Dorothea's  card,  and  duly  explaining  her 
errand. 

Violet  Farquharson  was  a  tall  and  worried-looking 
woman,  somewhat  deep  in  the  forties.  Her  complexion 
was  blotchy,  and  her  temper  uncertain.  In  her  youth  she 
had  been  flighty  and  vicious,  but  both  lover  and  husband 
died  of  typhoid  in  South  Africa,  and  her  instincts  were 
changed  with  her  complexion  and  advancing  years. 

There  was  a  boy  to  be  supported  at  Eton,  also  a  girl 
to  be  prepared  for  her  matrimonial  mission.  Vi  Farquhar- 

53 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

son  did  the  brave  thing:  she  admitted  her  age,  and  went 
into  business.  Fortune  favours  the  brave.  She  had  the 
great,  the  incomparable  good  fortune  to  obtain  the  services 
of  Mr.  Perry  and  Miss  Baines.  It  was  they  who  enabled 
her  to  use  her  opportunities.  For,  of  course,  all  her  friends 
rallied  round  her,  ran  up  debts  with  her,  and  sought  for 
bargains. 

John  Perry  was  a  remarkable  personality.  It  had  not 
been  recognized  at  Madame  Pamela's,  where  he  had  gone 
directly  from  his  training  in  Paris.  Madame  Pamela's  ob- 
tuseness  became  Vi  Farquharson's  opportunity.  Miss  Baines 
had  been  John  Perry's  fellow-assistant  in  Regent  Street.  She 
followed  him  faithfully  to  Brook  Street,  and  from  the  time 
the  two  were  installed,  the  business  grew  and  grew.  It  was 
still  growing  when  Ursula  Rugeley  brought  Lady  Dorothea's 
card  of  introduction  to  the  establishment,  but  it  was  not 
yet  firmly  established.  They  could  not  afford  to  offend  the 
impecunious  Desmonds,  with  the  stable  Duchess  of  Ebring- 
ton  in  the  background,  and  the  Kidderminster  connection. 
Lady  Dorothea  was  still  within  the  pale.  She  had  grown 
up  there,  and  there  was  still  a  corner  for  her,  a  well- 
dressed,  if  obscure,  corner. 

So  Vi  received  Ursula  with  indulgence,  if  with  irritation. 
It  was  two  and  a  half  years  now  since  she  had  started  in 
business,  and  eighteen  months  since  John  Perry  had 
joined  her.  She  had  begun  to  have  the  pride  of  her  success, 
to  feel  confident  of  the  future. 

"Dolly's  always  so  inconsiderate.  I  can't  train  a  girl 
in  the  middle  of  the  season,"  she  grumbled. 

"  She  won't  leave  the  hospital  for  another  three  weeks," 
Ursula  urged ;  "  then,  if  she  could  come  to  you  whilst 
others  were  taking  their  holiday,  I  am.  sure  she  would 
quickly  be  of  use.  She  is  very  industrious  and  steady ; 
I've  known  her  for  years." 

54 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  But  Dolly  says  '  the  show-room.'  Why  the  show-room  ? 
I'm  short  of  bodice  hands.  Now,  if  she  can  sew  .  .  ." 

"She  can  sew.  It  is  her  appearance  that  made  Lady 
Dorothea  think  she  would  be  of  more  use  in  the  shop. 
But  she  is  ready  to  do  anything." 

"  A  factory  girl  !  It's  quite  absurd.  Dorothea  is  always 
absurd.  And  I  suppose  I  am  to  pay  her  wages  just  as  if 
she  had  been  properly  trained.  And  dress  .  .  .  who  is 
going  to  dress  her  ?  " 

Ursula  undertook  that  she  should  have  the  requisite 
black  frock.  If  she  graduated  to  silk  and  the  show-room, 
Madame  Violetta  would  furnish  her,  for  that  was  the 
custom  of  the  trade.  The  interview  was  not  suave,  but 
then  it  was  comparatively  short.  Vi  rustled  out  of  the 
room,  after  she  had  talked  with  Dorothea's  strangely 
chosen  messenger,  to  consult  John  Perry.  And  John 
Perry  came  back  with  her,  and  asked  Ursula  one  or  two 
pointed  questions.  Yes,  she  had  a  remarkable  head  of  hair, 
and  that  was  why  Lady  Dorothea  had  thought  she  would 
be  useful  to  show  off  hats.  She  was  slender,  and  Ursula 
believed  she  had  a  good  figure.  She  was  quite  steady  and 
respectable,  not  particularly  good-looking,  Ursula  thought, 
but  very  industrious. 

"  We  don't  want  to  offend  Lady  Dorothea,"  John  Perry 
said  authoritatively,  in  a  private  few  words  with  his 
employer.  "No  one  wears  her  clothes  better;  it  does  us 
good  for  it  to  be  known  that  we  dress  her.  And  she  takes 
offence  very  easily.  I  don't  think  we  can  do  much  harm 
in  giving  the  young  woman  a  chance.  More  than  likely  her 
ladyship  will  forget  all  about  her,  once  we  say  yes.  We  can 
get  rid  of  her  at  the  end  of  a  month  if  she's  no  good." 

John  Perry  was  taking  the  reins  very  gradually,  but 
very  surely,  from  the  manicured  hands  of  his  well-born 
mistress.  He  knew,  from  the  first,  the  port  to  which  he 

55 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

was  steering.  He  wanted  to  manage  the  business  in  his 
own  way,  he  wanted  no  interference  at  all.  Supreme 
power  would  come;  it  came  nearer  every  day.  For  Vi 
Farquharson  had  gone  into  business  completely  ignorant 
of  what  business  meant.  Many  of  her  friends  had  done 
the  same,  drifting  easily  into  bankruptcy.  She  was 
making  a  success  of  it,  and  just  as  she  had  had  sufficient 
intelligence  to  abandon  the  role  of  amoureuse,  when  she 
realized  that  it  no  longer  became  her,  so  did  she  perceive 
now  that  the  position  she  would  most  fitly  occupy  in 
Brook  Street  would  be  that  of  figure-head.  Mr.  Perry 
was  consulted  about  everything,  and  his  decision  as  to 
Lady  Dorothea  Lytham's  introduction  was  made  quickly. 

It  was  decided  that  Sally  Snape  should  come  to  Brook 
Street.  Mr.  Perry  thought  she  ought  to  pay  a  premium. 
"Never  mind  about  the  amount,  but  it  would  be  some- 
thing in  hand.  Catch  Lady  Dorothea  in  a  generous  mood, 
when  she  has  money,  and  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about 
it,"  he  said.  She  had  run  over  the  girl,  and  that  con- 
stituted a  real  claim.  He  had  elicited  all  about  the  acci- 
dent from  Ursula.  He  advised  Mrs.  Farquharson  to  write, 
in  the  name  of  the  firm,  and  say  they  were  quite  willing 
to  give  the  young  woman  a  chance ;  but  they  always  had 
a  premium  with  their  work-girls.  He  even  dictated  the 
letter,  so  that  it  should  be  sufficiently  firm,  and  yet  not 
calculated  to  offend. 

"Say  we  are  quite  full  up,  but  that  her  ladyship's 
wishes  are  law.  Say  that  we  never  take  a  girl  with  less 
than  a  hundred  guineas  premium,  but  that,  this  being  an 
exceptional  case,  we  will  take  fifty.  You  might  add 
something  about  noticing  that  she  has  the  same  spirit  of 
charity  that  animates  her  sister,  the  Duchess,  and  that  we 
are  glad  to  do  our  little.  Put  it  so  that  she  can't  wriggle 
out  of  paying ;  the  girl  must  bring  the  premium  with  her. 

56 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Lady  Dorothea  will  get  it  out  of  somebody,  if  she  hasn't 
got  the  ready  herself." 

Miss  Rugeley  was  amiably  told,  after  having  been  kept 
four  minutes  for  the  private  interview  with  Mr.  Perry, 
that  Mrs.  Farquharson  was  quite  willing  to  take  Miss 
Snape  if  Lady  Dorothea  would  pay  a  small  premium  with 
her.  Mrs.  Farquharson  told  Ursula  she  would  write  to 
her  cousin,  and  she  had  no  doubt  of  the  result.  Miss  Snape 
might  consider  the  matter  settled. 

So  it  was  arranged  between  Ursula  Rugeley  and  Mrs. 
Farquharson  that,  as  soon  as  Sally  was  fit  to  leave  the 
hospital,  she  should  go  and  see  Lady  Dorothea  and  get  the 
money. 


57 


CHAPTER  IV 

it  came  about  that,  some  ten  days  later,  the  pre- 
cise and  formal  butler  in  Curzon  Street  was  startled 
by  the  apparition  of  Miss  Sally  Snape,  with  red  feathers 
in  her  green  hat,  a  shawl  pinned  round  her  slender 
figure,  inquiring  whether  she  could  see  Lady  Dorothea 
Lytham.  Sally  was  pale  and  thin,  and  limping;  she 
seemed  more  limp  than  the  lank  feathers  in  her  Epping 
Forest  hat. 

"Now  what  might  you  be  wanting  to  see  Lady  Dolly 
for  ?  She  can't  owe  you  anything,"  he  said  wonderingly, 
out  of  his  large  experience  of  Lady  Dorothea  and  her  ways. 

"  She  ran  over  me.  Then  she  came  to  the  hospital,  and 
said  I  was  to  come  here,"  Sally  explained,  leaning  against 
the  lintel,  rather  spent  and  breathless.  It  was  her  first 
day  without  crutches,  the  stick  had  proved  a  fatiguing 
support,  she  looked  very  pale  and  pathetic. 

"  Well,  you  come  in  and  sit  down  in  the  hall.  I'll  ring 
for  her  ladyship's  maid,  and  see  if  you  can  go  up." 

Sally  was  glad  of  the  coolness  of  the  small  dark  hall. 
She  sank  wearily  into  the  big  porter's  chair,  one  of  the 
Desmond  relics,  that  looked  out  of  place  in  its  present 
insignificant  home ;  she  leaned  her  head  against  its  leath. 
ern  side  and  waited  patiently. 

She  had  a  long  time  to  wait.  Lady  Dorothea  sent  down 
word  that  she  would  see  the  young  woman  when  she  had 
finished  dressing.  But  Dolly's  toilette  was  not  a  simple 
affair;  her  effect,  of  brilliancy  and  novelty,  wealth  and 

58 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

exuberant  youth,  was  not  produced  without  care.  Her 
hair,  although  nature  had  made  it  dark,  curly,  and  abundant, 
needed  the  ministrations  of  her  French  maid  to  make 
it  fashionable ;  it  had  to  be  brushed  with  brilliantine, 
waved  from  the  face,  with  additional  curls  pinned  at  the 
back.  When  it  was  all  carefully  finished,  she  pulled  it 
down,  threw  the  curls  away,  and  twisted  it  into  a  simple 
coil.  This  being  her  ordinary  procedure,  Claire  made  no 
protest.  As  for  the  curls,  she  had  known  milady  would 
never  wear  them,  but  they  matched  her  own  very  nicely ; 
they  were  among  the  strange  perquisites  of  her  irregularly 
paid  and  exacting  place. 

Dorothea  put  on  a  simple  muslin  gown  from  Doucet's, 
and  said  she  "looked  a  beast"  in  it.  She  tried  a  grey  voile, 
and  was  not  better  satisfied.  A  quite  new,  very  quaint, 
picture  dress  of  flowered  chine  was  her  final  choice.  But 
then  the  simple  coiffeur  was  found  to  war  with  it,  and  for 
the  third  time  her  hair  was  re-done,  puffed  a  little  at  the 
sides,  and  made  in  unison  with  her  frock.  At  last  every- 
thing was  complete,  the  cheval  glass  consulted,  and 
satisfied. 

"  I  think  I  look  rather  nice." 

"  Milady  looks  charmante." 

"  Well,  give  me  my  handkerchief,  and  leave  off  pulling 
me  down  and  patting  me  about.  There's  that  girl  wait- 
ing to  see  me.  Where  is  she  ?  Tell  Parkins  I'll  see  her 
in  the  drawing-room." 

But  it  was  now  luncheon-time.  Colonel  Fellowes  was 
in  the  drawing-room ;  he,  too,  had  been  waiting  half  an 
hour.  But  he  had  the  newspaper  and  his  cigarette,  and 
he  was  used  to  Dorothea's  ways. 

"  Hullo ! "  he  said,  as  he  threw  away  his  cigarette  and 
rose  to  greet  her.  "That's  quite  a  new  style,  isn't  it?" 
He  did  not  shake  hands  with  her,  but  she  stood  still  for 

59 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

inspection,  and  he  looked  over  her  carefully.  "I  like 
that  —  it's  very  good.  Who's  it  got  up  for?  Who's  to  be 
killed  ?  I  looked  into  the  dining-room  —  laid  for  six.  Who 
are  the  party  ?  " 

"Kiddie  is  coming,  and  the  Middlecote  girls.  I  don't 
know  of  anybody  else." 

"Sir  Clement  Dowling,"  announced  Parkins,  throwing 
open  the  folding  doors. 

She  met  him  with  both  hands  outstretched,  and  the 
most  attractive  smile: 

"There!  Now  isn't  that  strange?  I  was  trying  to 
recollect  who  was  coming  to  lunch,  and  quite  forgot  about 
you.  I  did  ask  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  In  the  park,  this  morning.  Morning, 
Fellowes." 

The  two  men  nodded  to  each  other.  Colonel  Fellowes, 
who  was  a  man  of  about  five  and  forty,  grey-haired  and  up- 
right, with  a  perpetual  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes,  a  smile 
habitual  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  recognized  the  meaning 
of  the  omission  of  Sir  Clement  Dowling's  name  from  the 
list  of  expected  guests.  Dorothea's  subtleties  were  simple, 
and  always  delightful  to  him.  Sir  Clement  was  the  very 
latest  conquest:  a  Norfolk  baronet,  poor,  a  Catholic,  and 
extraordinarily  stupid;  it  would  have  seemed  that  a 
flirtation  with  him,  whatever  its  nature,  would  have  been 
an  end  hardly  worth  compassing.  But  Dorothea  was 
eclectic,  and  Sir  Clement  had  not  yet  quite  realized  what 
was  expected  of  him,  so  the  affair  had  still  something  of 
the  charm  of  a  chase.  Also,  Joan  Middlecote  had  been 
spoken  of  as  an  obviously  suitable  marriage  for  him! 
Colonel  Fellowes  thought  he  was  going  to  enjoy  his  lunch. 

Clement  Dowling's  fair  hair  was  brushed  straight  back 
from  his  forehead,  his  lustreless  eyes  were  of  pale  blue, 
with  light  eyelashes ;  he  was  clean-shaven,  and  his  weak, 

60 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

indeterminate  mouth  and  chin  wore  no  disguise  But  he 
was  tall,  of  good  figure  and  family,  and  faultlessly  dressed. 

The  Middlecotes  came  in  breathlessly  late  and  apolo- 
getic. They  were  the  twin  daughters  of  that  wealthy  and 
eccentric  politician,  Lord  Thanet.  Their  dead  mother  had 
been  of  the  house  of  Ingleby.  The  wealth  with  which 
she  had  endowed  them  had  not  been  her  only  legacy 
to  her  children.  They  were  egoists,  and  of  an  ingrained 
vulgarity.  Also  both  in  fair  Joan  and  dark  Naomi  there 
lurked  a  touch  of  an  alien  race ;  crinkly  hair  growing  low 
on  the  forehead,  lips  moulded  coarsely,  a  prettiness  that 
could  have  been  matched  in  the  Whitechapel  Road.  Every- 
thing that  could  have  been  done  for  them  had  been  done, 
but  they  lacked  finish. 

Of  course,  after  their  arrival  everybody  talked  at  once, 
about  him  or  herself.  Joan  had  been  to  Madame  some- 
body or  other  for  her  massage,  Naomi  had  galloped  in  the 
Row,  lamed  her  horse,  and  bee.n  stopped  by  a  policeman. 
She  had  seen  Jack  Desmond  with  Mrs.  Vernon,  and  Harry 
Makin  with  his  mother,  and  Laurie  by  himself.  Joan 
wanted  Dolly  to  try  her  masseuse,  and  Dolly  laughingly 
answered  that  she  would,  when  Joan's  complexion  was  as 
good  as  hers.  Everybody  looked  immediately  at  Dolly's 
glowing  skin,  and  at  Joan's  dingy  one;  and  everybody 
smiled.  Sir  Clement  Dowling  absolutely  grinned.  Of  course, 
Joan  reddened  with  annoyance,  but  was  only  subdued  for 
a  moment.  Before  lunch  was  announced  she  explained 
away  the  impression  conveyed  by  talking  of  the  fatigues 
of  the  last  few  weeks,  and  the  freshening  effect  of  the 
massage.  It  was  just  like  Dolly  to  swagger  her  complexion, 
but  let  her  sit  up  until  three  or  four  in  the  morning,  four 
nights  out  of  five,  and  see  what  she  would  look  like !  Joan 
knew,  of  course,  that  next  to  Dolly  she  was  small,  insig- 
nificant; but  she  prided  herself  on  her  vivacity.  She 

61 


THE   HEART  OF   A   CHILD 

rattled  out  a  volume  of  it  over  the  hors  d'oeuvres  and  eggs, 
all  to  cover  Dorothea's  repartee. 

Hors  d'o&uvres  and  eggs  had  both  departed,  and  the 
trout  was  being  discussed  before  Kiddie  came  in.  A  place 
had  been  laid  for  him,  and  left  vacant,  between  Dolly  and 
Naomi ;  he  dropped  into  it : 

"  Hullo !  nearly  done  ?  Sorry  I'm  late.  What's  this  ? 
Sardines  !  Skittles !  Isn't  there  any  cold  meat  about  ? 
I'm  hungry,  Dolly.  What's  there  to  eat  ?  Tell  'em  to 
go  on  where  they  were.  Fish!  Yes,  I'll  have  some 
fish." 

He  started  eating  without  more  ado.  He  was  such  a 
very  important  young  man  that  in  any  other  house  in 
Mayfair  except  that  of  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham  they  would, 
without  doubt,  have  waited  lunch  for  him.  Perhaps  that 
was  why  he  came  oftener  to  No.  200  Curzon  Street  than 
anywhere  else.  He  liked  Dolly;  she  had  never  treated 
him  as  a  boy,  even  when  he  was  a  boy.  He  did  not  care 
a  "  hang  "  about  her  reputation,  he  did  not  believe  every- 
thing he  heard  about  her.  He  accepted  unquestioningly 
Colonel  Fellowes'  position  as  her  great  friend.  Kiddie 
had  a  way,  in  these  early  days,  of  accepting  his  relatives 
on  their  face  value. 

Lord  Kidderminster,  Kiddie,  as  he  had  been  called 
ever  since  his  Eton  days,  was  the  only  son  and  heir  of 
the  most  Honourable  the  Marquess  of  Fortive,  whose 
services  to  his  country  have  never  been  without  the  recog- 
nition of  place.  And  Kiddie's  mother  was  an  invalid, 
living  at  Buckminster  nearly  all  the  year  round ;  a  power 
for  good,  a  force  in  the  real  great  world,  but  condemned 
to  long  periods  of  inactivity.  With  his  invalid  mother, 
and  his  statesman  father,  Kiddie  had  had  more  freedom 
than  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  majority  of  young  men  of  his 
day.  And  he  also  had  a  larger  income.  His  father  was 

62 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

not  unmindful  of  his  needs,  and  his  mother's  full  purse 
was  as  his  own.  It  was  understood  that  he  was  going  into 
diplomacy.  In  the  meantime  he  must  see  life. 

With  so  much  freedom,  so  much  money,  society  was 
watching  with  interest  for  the  sowing  of  his  wild  oats. 
He  was  twenty -two  now,  and,  beyond  leaving  Oxford 
without  a  degree,  they  had  been  but  a  meagre  crop.  Kiddie 
was  tall,  well  shaped,  not  ill-looking  in  a  thoroughly  com- 
monplace way.  There  was  nothing  of  the  Adonis  about 
him,  but  his  skin  was  clear,  and  he  had  good  teeth,  rather 
handsome  hands,  and  an  air  of  being  well  groomed.  He 
was  eighteen  before  he  had  reached  the  upper  school  at 
Eton.  Nevertheless,  he  was  no  fool,  and  he  had,  like 
Dorothea,  a  definite  appreciation  of  his  own  importance. 
Also  he  had  an  unusual  and  deep  affection  for  his  mother, 
and  a  genuine  respect  for  his  father.  Their  treatment  of 
him  had  made  him  respect  their  judgment.  The  men  of 
his  year  said  "  Kiddie  was  not  a  bad  chap." 

The  fact  was  that,  being  an  only  son,  he  had  never  been 
quite  a  boy,  and  therefore  was  a  man  with  his  youth  yet 
to  come,  a  tough  papyrus  upon  which  the  stylus  of  life 
had  as  yet  made  but  little  mark. 

He  had  a  boy's  appetite,  however,  and  it  had  to  be 
satisfied  before  he  began  to  talk.  It  was  not  very  eloquent 
talk  then.  It  was  more  like  the  tipster's  column  in  "  The 
Sportsman"  than  anything  else,  all  about  Goodwood, 
and  his  horses  in  training  there,  and  other  people's  horses 
in  training  there. 

Quite  suddenly,  apropos  of  nothing,  with  a  huge  piece 
of  plum  cake  in  his  hand  and  a  lump  of  it  in  his  mouth,  he 
said: 

"That  reminds  me,"  —  he  had  been  talking  of  Sonera's 
chances  for  the  Goodwood  Cup  —  "  Dolly,  who's  the  inter- 
estin'  invalid  that's  asleep  in  the  hall?  She  looks  as  if 

63 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

she's  come  from  Hampstead  Heath,  feathers  and  all.  Is 
that  the  latest  Cerberus  ?  Is  she  goin'  to  answer  the  door  ? 
I  asked  Parkins,  and  he  said  priinly  that  he  '  had  had  no 
instructions  from  her  ladyship.'  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"Good  heavens!"  Dolly  was  conscience-stricken,  and 
laughed  gaily.  "I  had  forgotten  all  about  her.  It's 
Sally  Snape.  You  know  I  told  you  all  about  her.  It's 
that  girl  I  ran  over  the  night  I  tried  the  new  Panhard. 
I  said  I'd  see  her  when  I  was  dressed.  I'm  going  to  make 
Vi  Farquharson  take  her ;  and,  by  the  way,  Kiddie  "  —  she 
turned  her  laughing  eyes  on  him  —  "  now  you've  reminded 
me,  you'll  have  to  help.  Vi's  frightfully  stingy ;  she 
wants  me  to  pay  a  premium." 

"  I  should  think  from  the  look  of  her  she'll  die  on  your 
hands,  and  save  you  the  money.  I  never  heard  about  this 
feat  of  yours.  When  did  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"Ever  so  long  ago.  Six  weeks,  I  think.  Then  I  went 
to  see  her  in  the  London  Hospital." 

"  Oh,  Dolly,  you  never  told  us ! "  chorused  Joan  and 
Naomi. 

"She  did  good  by  stealth,"  quoted  Colonel  Fellowes, 
with  the  twinkle  accentuated. 

"Now  don't  you  belittle  my  philanthropy."  She 
turned  quickly  on  him.  "  It's  too  bad  of  you.  You 
know  you  thought  it  awfully  sweet  of  me  to  go." 

"  Of  course  I  did.  And  to  let  her  come  here  to  thank 
you." 

He  got  up  and  lit  his  cigarette,  dropping  the  match 
neatly  among  the  palms  in  the  grate,  then  added  coolly  — 

"  And  I  think  it  very  kind  of  you  to  let  her  wait  two 
hours  in  the  hall,  when  probably  she  is  just  out  of  hospital, 
and  has  had  nothing  to  eat  since  eight  o'clock  this  morning. 
It's  not  three  yet.  I  think  you  are  quite  wonderful  to 
remember  her  when  Kiddie  reminds  you." 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  It's  easy  enough  for  you  to  laugh  at  me.  I'd  like  to 
know  what  you  ever  do  for  poor  people." 

"  Abstain  from  running  over  them,"  he  answered, 
"  that's  all.  Why  don't  you  tell  Parkins  to  take  her  down 
to  the  servants'  hall,  and  give  her  some  dinner  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  going  to." 

"  You  can  finish  your  cigarettes,  and  then  come  up 
to  the  drawing-room  for  five  minutes,"  she  said  to  Colonel 
Fellowes ;  "  you  don't  deserve  more,  and  I  can't  spare  it 
either,  for  Sir  Clement  is  driving  me  down  to  Rauelagh, 
aren't  you,  Sir  Clement  ?  " 

He  had  not  heard  of  it  before,  but  stammered  out  an 
eager  acquiescence. 

"  Kiddie,  you  really  must  help  me  with  this  girl.  You 
know  I'm  a  pauper,  and  Vi  won't  take  her  without  the 
premium." 

"  Well,  I'll  have  another  look  at  her  first.  I  must  have 
something  for  my  money." 

"How  perfectly  horrid  of  you." 

Sally  was  given  some  dinner  in  the  servants'  hall.  Fear- 
fully tired,  her  scarcely  mended  leg  aching  badly,  quite  as 
faint  with  hunger  as  Colonel  Fellowes  had  surmised,  Sally 
was  a  sympathetic  object  to  a  kindly  cook  and  a  curious 
footman.  They  talked  to  her  of  the  accident,  and  the  day 
in  Epping  that  had  preceded  it.  They  warned  her  not  to 
take  "too  much  store"  by  anything  her  ladyship  might 
promise  to  do,  for  her  ladyship  bad  a  habit  of  forgetting ! 
But  their  warnings  did  not  depress  Sally,  who,  by  the  time 
she  was  sent  for  upstairs,  had  had  a  very  good  dinner  and 
a  large  glass  of  wine,  and  felt  full  of  hope  and  expec- 
tation. 

The  girl  whom  Colonel  Fellowes  met  on  the  stairs  had 
colour  in  her  transparent  cheeks,  green  light  sparkling 
in  her  strange  eyes.  The  red  hair  was  roughened  some- 

F  65 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

what  under  her  feathered  hat,  but  the  disorder  only  be- 
trayed its  luxuriance.  The  shawl  hid  her  figure,  the  stick 
disguised  her  walk;  but,  even  then,  she  was  remarkable 
on  the  Curzon  Street  background. 

"Is  this  the  young  lady,  Parkins,"  he  said  pleasantly, 
"  that  her  ladyship  ran  over  ?  " 

Arrested  in  her  limping  progress,  Sally  eyed  her  inter- 
locutor with  the  boldness  of  the  East  End  in  its  holiday 
mood.  And  it  was  a  figure  worth  looking  at,  with  its 
soldierly  head  carried  erect,  the  blue  eyes  twinkling 
humorously  in  the  lean  brown  face.  Colonel  Fellowes' 
forty-odd  years  had  greyed  his  hair  and  grizzled  his 
brushed-up  moustache,  but  there  were  no  other  signs  of  age 
about  him. 

"I'll  take  Miss  Sally  upstairs.  It  is  Miss  Sally,  isn't 
it  ? "  he  said  to  her.  He  retraced  his  footsteps,  he  had 
been  going  out.  "  Your  leg  still  weak,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said 
sympathetically.  "I  broke  mine  once,  on  a  tiger  hunt, 
and  I  remember  it  was  months  before  it  felt  like  the  other 
one." 

"  Sort  o'  numb,"  she  said,  "  that's  what  mine's  like." 

"  Put  your  hand  here,  on  the  banister,  that  will  steady 
you  better  than  the  stick.  Give  me  the  stick." 

"  You're  very  kind." 

He  looked  at  her : 

"  Everybody  is  kind  to  pretty  girls,"  he  interjected. 

Then  they  were  at  the  drawing-room  door. 

"Are  they  ?  "  she  asked  wonderingly. 

She  did  not  want  him  to  go.  She  wanted  him  to  come 
in  with  her,  she  thought  it  would  be  beautiful  to  hear  him 
and  Lady  Dorothea  talking ;  she  was  marvellously  excited. 
But  Colonel  Fellowes  had  never  committed  an  error  of  tact. 
He  had  said  good-bye  to  Lady  Dorothea  some  minutes  ago, 
and  left  her  with  Lord  Kidderminster.  Sally's  vividity 

66 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

had  brought  him  back  these  few  steps,  but  it  could  not 
lead  him  to  such  a  Mtise  as  a  return  to  the  drawing-room. 
He  said  a  reassuring  word  to  her,  and  told  her  at  which 
door  to  knock. 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  again,"  he  said,  and  was  gone. 
Sally  thought  him  a  very  kind  gentleman,  then  dismissed 
him  from  her  thoughts. 

Kiddie,  who  wasn't  exactly  mean,  although  no  one  ever 
accused  him  of  flinging  away  his  money,  was  wrangling 
with  Dorothea  over  the  amount. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  practise  driving  a  six- 
cylinder  car  in  a  crowded  thoroughfare,  and  I  should  pay 
the  piper,"  he  grumbled.  "  Make  Vi  take  her  without  a 
premium,  and  I'll  get  Gwen  to  have  some  clothes  there." 

"Don't  be  so  beastly  mean.  Sit  down  and  write  a 
cheque  at  once.  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  Oh !  here  she  is  ! 
Come  in,  Sally.  This  is  Lord  Kidderminster,  he's  going 
to  pay  your  premium  at  Madame  Violetta's  because  he's 
so  sorry  you  broke  your  leg.  Aren't  you,  Kiddie  ?  " 

Kiddie  looked  up  sullenly,  and  met  the  green,  sparkling 
eyes.  And  Sally,  though  nervous,  was  not  abashed ;  the 
wine  was  bubbling  in  her  veins. 

"  I'm  that  grateful,"  she  began,  she  smiled  her  gratitude 
with  trembling  lips  ;  "  and  to  your  ladyship." 

"  Oh,  that  will  do,  you  can  sit  down.  I  suppose  your  leg 
is  shaky  still  ?  " 

After  Kiddie's  eyes  had  met  the  green  ones,  he  turned  to 
Dolly  and  said  in  a  low  voice  — 

"  All  right,  don't  make  a  fuss  about  it.  What  was  the 
good  of  telling  her  who  I  am  ?  Come  here  a  minute,  and 
I'll  give  you  the  stuff." 

Dolly  followed  him  leisurely,  and  he  counted  out  the  notes. 

"  Why  do  you  want  Vi  to  take  her  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It's 
an  amateur  show  at  best." 

67 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Oh,  it's  easiest.  Thanks,  old  boy,  I'll  take  it  round 
myself  to-morrow  morning,  and  get  a  hat  out  of  her  on  the 
strength  of  it.  Run  away  now,  there's  a  dear.  I  must 
say  something  to  the  girl,  and  Sir  Clement  has  been  waiting 
for  me  for  half  an  hour." 

"Poor  old  Cis,"  he  put  in.  "Is  the  Clement  Dowling 
game  going  to  last  over  Goodwood  ?  Shall  I  have  to  ask 
him  down  to  Royston  ?  " 

"  I  rather  think  so,"  she  answered  impudently.  "  But 
don't  hurry  with  the  invitation.  I'll  let  you  know  in  lots 
of  time." 

Sally  was  glad  to  be  alone  ;  she  had  never  been  in  such 
a  room  before,  never  known  there  were  such  rooms.  It 
bewildered  her.  There  were  so  many  things  in  it,  mirrors 
and  bric-a-brac,  cushions  and  draperies,  and  flowers;  it 
was  heavy  with  the  scent  of  lilies.  She  had  smiled  at 
Lord  Kidderminster  almost  without  seeing  him ;  her 
senses  were  absorbed  by  the  radiance  of  Dorothea.  And 
Sally  had  the  dress  instinct,  she  could  have  described 
the  flowered  chine;  she  did  describe  it,  in  fact,  later  on, 
to  both  Mary  Murray  and  Ursula.  She  had  not  much 
time  to  make  notes  about  it,  for  Dorothea  dismissed  her 
in  a  couple  of  minutes.  It  was  all  right,  she  was  to  go  to 
Madame  Violetta  as  soon  as  she  liked,  and  Lady  Dorothea 
hoped  she'd  "  have  a  good  time,  and  do  well." 

"  And  don't  frizzle  up  your  fringe  like  that.  You  looked 
much  nicer  in  the  hospital.  Vi  —  I  mean  Madame  Violetta 
—  will  be  horrified  if  you  go  to  her  like  that.  Go  to  that 
nice  woman,  I  don't  know  her  name,  but  she  was  sitting 
with  you  when  I  came  into  the  ward,  and  ask  her  to  dress 
you  up  —  put  you  into  black  or  something  dark.  I  don't 
want  Vi  —  I  mean  Madame  Violetta  —  to  laugh  at  me  for 
sending  her  such  a  figure." 

Lady  Dorothea  was  not  afraid  of  hurting  Sally's  feelings  ; 

68 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

she  never  thought  of  anybody's  feelings.  That  was  one 
of  her  foibles  that  kept  Colonel  Cecil  Lythara  at  Glenuttoch, 
or  with  his  regiment.  And  Sally's  sensitiveness,  at  the 
moment,  was  of  a  grateful  rather  than  of  a  resentful  kind. 

Ursula  Eugeley  had  already  promised  to  help  her.  She 
was  to  stay  with  Ursula  for  a  week  before  she  took  up 
her  duties  in  Brook  Street.  She  was  to  have  a  week  in 
Chepstow  Villas,  Bayswater,  during  which  time  she  would 
get  back  her  strength  and  learn  many  things.  She  was  only 
eighteen,  and  the  rise  in  life  was  a  big  one.  Mary  had  said 
she  envied  her  when  Sally  had  told  her  the  news  yesterday. 
Then  it  was  still  uncertain,  almost  too  good  to  be  true. 
Now  it  was  a  fact.  Her  ladyship  had  said  so,  Miss  Eugeley 
had  confirmed  it;  the  premium  had  been  paid.  She  was 
really  going  into  a  West  End  business,  to  learn  the  milli- 
nery, to  be  in  the  show-room,  to  see  and  speak  with  ladies, 
be  constantly  among  beautiful  clothes,  and  enter  a  new 
world ! 

But  Mary  Murray,  although  she  professed  envy,  was 
just  now  full  of  happiness.  She  had  found  a  little  private 
paradise  of  her  own,  and  the  factory  of  Messrs.  Hall  & 
Palmer  was  all  alight  with  the  glow  from  it.  True,  she 
was  in  the  factory,  and  he  was  in  the  counting-house.  But 
Alf  was  not  proud,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  really  genteel, 
and  not  like  an  ordinary  factory  girl.  They  were  going  to 
wait,  both  of  them  would  save ;  but  meanwhile  there  were 
half-holidays  and  Sundays,  and  some  fine  evenings.  Life 
was  now  all  golden  to  Mary  Murray,  and  she  had  tempora- 
rily forgotten  the  tragedy  of  her  thin  hair.  She  con- 
fided everything  to  Sally  in  return  for  the  Brook  Street 
confidences,  and  Sally  listened,  secretly  rather  scornful. 
Sally  had  seen  too  much  of  marriage  to  think  well  of  it ; 
marriage  in  Angel  Gardens  had  meant  ill-treatment  from 
drunken  husbands,  much  child-bearing,  misery  accentuated, 

69 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

doubled  by  the  yoking  of  two  beasts  for  one  burden,  the 
burden  of  common  poverty.  As  for  love,  that  had  been 
another  name  for  disgrace  and  degradation,  worse  even 
than  marriage,  and  with  the  same  brutal  ending.  She 
was  not  clear  in  her  ethical  code,  and  was  incapable  of 
reason.  She  knew  nothing  of  what  Mary  tried  to  tell  her, 
of  mutual  sympathy  and  understanding,  of  the  dawn  of 
tenderness,  of  the  gradual  absorption  of  two  timid  natures 
into  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  sweet  love.  Of  the  joys  of 
the  little  home  Mary  and  Alfred  were  beginning  to  picture, 
Sally  Snape  also  knew  nothing.  A  semi-detached  villa  in 
Dalston,  with  white  curtains  to  the  windows,  and  red  gera- 
niums in  boxes;  perhaps  a  slip  of  a  garden,  Alfred  for 
whom  to  cook  and  his  clothes  to  mend,  Alfred  to  call  her 
"little  wifey,"  and  come  home  to  her  each  evening  —  a 
home,  and  she  the  centre  of  it.  That  was  Mary's  beautiful 
dream,  a  dream  of  which  Sally  was  as  yet  incapable. 

She  listened,  indeed,  but  was  conscious  that  she  would 
a  thousand  times  rather  go  to  learn  the  millinery  in  Brook 
Street  than  marry  anybody.  Mary,  had  hinted  at  the 
possibilities  in  Charlie  Peastone's  visits.  She  had  failed 
to  understand  Sally's  sudden  and  unaccountable  dislike 
to  him.  Of  course,  Luke  Cullen  was  out  of  the  question. 
Sally  looked  so  "genteel"  —  it  was  Mary's  favourite  word 
—  in  the  clean  tidiness  of  the  hospital  get-up,  that  Mary 
understood  that  Luke,  notwithstanding  his  two  pounds  a 
week,  was  no  match  for  her. 

Johnny  Doone,  too,  urged  his  suit. 

"  Marry  me,  Sal,  when  yer  get  out  of  the  'orspital,  and 
come  back  and  live  with  me  and  Sandy.  We  'ad  fine 
times  before,  and  we'll  'ave  'em  again.  I  carn't  think 
why  yer  'anging  back.  You  say  you  like  me  better  nor 
anybody.  I'll  bring  you  back  my  wages  reg'lar.  Yer 
know  I  don't  drink." 

70 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"  No,  Johnny,  you  don't  drink,  but  you  loaf  a  lot,"  she 
replied  thoughtfully.  "And  the  drink  comes.  It's  all  very 
well  when  there's  work  to  be  had,  but  when  it's  slack  ..." 

Sally  had  been  up  for  the  first  time  when  Johnny  made 
his  offer,  sitting  in  a  comfortable  chair  in  Mary  Agnes 
Ward,  still  in  her  red  bed-jacket,  with  her  stick  by  her 
side,  rather  pathetic  in  her  weakness.  Johnny's  brown 
eyes  were  very  soft  when  he  looked  at  her.  He  was  only 
a  young  dock  labourer  of  nineteen,  and  his  Sunday  visiting 
suit  was  modelled  on  a  costermonger's,  but  he  knew  more 
than  Sally  did. 

"  But,  Sal,"  he  said,  "  if  I  got  you  I  wouldn't  drink,  nor 
slack."  He  put  a  grimy,  hard  hand  on  her  knee,  his  voice 
was  not  perfectly  steady,  and  he  had  forgotten  there  were 
other  people  in  the  ward  : 

"  Sal,  I  love  you.  I've  always  loved  you,  Sal.  I  don't 
want  you  to  go  back  and  work  in  the  factory.  I'll  take  care 
of  yer,  and  work  for  yer.  I  love  yer,  Sal.  .  .  ." 

She  threw  his  hand  off  touchily  : 

"  I  hate  such  talk,"  she  said. 

And  so,  having  snubbed  Charlie  Peastone,  rejected  Luke 
Cullen/and  "  choked  off"  Johnny  Doone,  she  was  quite  free, 
and  without  followers,  when  she  left  Curzon  Street  to  stay 
for  a  week  with  Ursula  Rugeley.  Everything  she  learnt 
there  was  of  use  to  her,  but  the  few  hesitating  and  uncertain 
words  of  warning  which  the  old  maid  tried  to  get  out 
about  "temptations"  that  came  to  good-looking  girls  were 
wasted.  Sally  was  much  more  outspoken  than  Ursula 
Rugeley ;  their  traditions  were  so  different. 

"Them  things  don't  tempt  me,"  she  said  calmly.  It 
was  quite  the  end  of  the  week  before  she  learnt  to  say 
"those."  "There's  no  temptation  to  me  in  men  loafing 
about  after  yer,  drinkin'  and  quarrellin';  I've  seen  too 
much  of  it.  You  must  have  a  chap  to  go  out  with  on  a 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

'oliday,  that  stands  to  reason,  but  it  won't  never  go  no 
further  with  me.  I  really  hates  them,  seen  too  much  of 
'em.  It's  other  things  I  want,  not  young  men." 

She  was  quite  certain  and  cool  about  it;  she  said  she 
could  "  take  care  of  herself,"  and  Ursula,  not  without  admi- 
ration, began  to  see  there  was  truth  in  it. 

It  was  a  strange  week  the  two  passed  together.  The 
villa  in  Bayswater  was  exquisitely  kept,  and  furnished 
in  the  best  mid- Victorian  manner.  Ursula  had  inherited 
it,  just  as  it  was,  from  the  querulous  and  paralytic  old 
man  whose  slave  she  had  been  for  so  many  years.  She 
had  rebelled  during  her  mother's  lifetime ;  from  twenty-one 
to  thirty  she  had  raged  against  the  dull  dutifulness  of  her 
home  life,  the  cramped  round  of  daily  duties,  the  routine 
visits,  the  ungenial  relatives.  She  had  fought  for  years 
to  be  allowed  to  become  a  hospital  nurse.  The  retort  that 
she  could  nurse  her  father  and  mother,  which  was  the 
privilege  of  an  only  daughter,  left  her  defenceless.  At 
thirty-eight,  when  her  tardy  freedom  came,  she  could  do 
nothing,  because  she  had  learnt  nothing,  except  housekeep- 
ing, and  she  had  acquired  the  wits  that  go  with  it.  But 
she  had  her  comfortable  income  and  house,  and  she  took 
philanthropy  as  a  pastime,  to  fill  her  empty  days,  not  even 
knowing  at  first  that  it  was  a  vocation  needing  a  long  ap- 
prenticeship and  rare  talent. 

The  visit  to  Angel  Gardens,  when  she  first  met  Sally, 
had  been  her  initiation.  In  the  five  years  that  followed 
she  had  learnt  the  first  letter  in  the  alphabet  of  her  work, 
she  had  learnt  sympathy.  She  was  mastering  the  second 
more  rapidly,  the  subordination  of  self. 

She  had  not  wanted  to  have  Sally  Snape  as  a  guest  in 
her  house.  Mary  and  Jane,  the  housemaid  and  parlour- 
maid, having  been  with  her  so  many  years  that  they  were 
"  set "  in  their  ways,  might  resent  the  intrusion  of  the 

72 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

factory  girl.  And  endless  tiresome  questions  arose.  Was 
Sally  to  have  her  meals  with  Ursula  or  in  the  kitchen  ? 
What  was  to  be  done  with  her  when  guests  came  ?  Ought 
she  not  to  have  decent  clothes  provided  before  she  became 
a  guest  in  Chepstow  Villas  ? 

All  these  perplexities  were  in  Ursula's  mind  when  Sally 
came  in  after  her  visit  to  Curzon  Street,  but  her  pallor  and 
fatigue  seemed  to  solve  them.  Once  Sally  had  sat  down 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  Mary  had  brought  her  tea,  it 
seemed  absurd  to  think  of  her  having  it  elsewhere.  And, 
because  she  walked  so  uncertainly,  Ursula  helped  her 
afterwards  to  her  bedroom,  staying  to  ask  if  she  needed 
help.  Then,  before  she  left  the  room,  she  hesitated  at  the 
door: 

"  I  dine  at  seven-thirty,"  she  said.  "  It's  six  now. 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  lie  down  for  an  hour  and  rest  ?  " 

Sally's  gift  of  silence  helped  her.  She  had  had  her 
dinner,  and  thought  Miss  Ursula  meant  supper.  But  she 
talked  in  a  strange  way,  and  Sally  meant  to  copy  it ; 
calling  dinner  supper,  or  supper  dinner,  didn't  amount  to 
much. 

She  liked  her  room,  she  liked  it  immensely.  It  had  been 
Ursula's  own  in  the  days  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rugeley  were 
alive  and  she  was  enslaved  by  their  affectionate  tyranny. 
The  small  brass  bed  had  been  hers,  and  the  suite  of  walnut 
furniture,  also  the  hanging  bookshelves  filled  with  the 
works  of  Jane  Austen,  with  "  Little  Women,"  and  "  The 
Mother's  Recompense,"  and  similar  studies.  The  Brussels 
carpet  remained  shabby  as  of  old,  the  autotypes  that 
adorned  the  walls  were  religious  in  character.  Sally 
admired  it  all,  even  to  the  strip  of  painted  and  mackintoshed 
cloth  that  was  nailed  behind  the  washhand  stand.  Already, 
too,  she  hated  her  clothes,  and  the  hat  with  the  bedraggled 
feathers. 

73 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Ursula  was  quite  willing  to  talk  about  clothes,  and 
she  noted  with  approval  Sally  had  tried  to  smooth  her 
rebellious  hair,  and  that  her  hands  and  face  were  clean. 
Of  course,  table-napkins,  finger-bowls,  the  differences 
between  fish  and  other  knives,  presented  difficulties.  The 
fried  whiting  was  separated  from  its  bones  and  eaten  with 
a  dessert  spoon.  It  was  embarrassing  for  Ursula,  and 
quite  shocking  to  Jane,  when  Sally  took  the  bone  of  the 
pigeon  in  her  fingers,  "leaving  marks  of  its  degustation 
round  her  mouth.  Sopping  her  bread  in  the  gravy,  and 
cleaning  her  plate  with  it,  were  minor  matters  after  that. 
But  she  was  quick  to  see  that  her  table  manners  differed 
from  those  of  her  hostess.  She  was  watching  all  the  time, 
and  she  knew  she  would  get  things  right  presently.  The 
finger-bowls  were  an  intense  surprise  to  her.  At  first  she 
expected  to  see  goldfish  in  them.  It  was  funny  the  way 
gentlefolk  dined.  She  thoiight  it  a  very  bad  dinner,  by 
the  way.  Hot  tripe  and  half  a  loaf  of  bread,  three  penny- 
worth of  liver  and  potatoes,  washed  down  with  beer,  would 
have  satisfied  her  appetite  better.  But  Ursula  was  a  teeto- 
taller, and,  like  many  women  who  live  alone,  she  had 
arrived  at  a  minimum  of  food.  The  three  courses  were  a 
sacrifice  to  cook  and  conventionality;  a  fried  whiting,  a 
pigeon,  and  a  custard  pudding  seemed  to  her  a  large  meal 
for  two  people.  The  coffee  came  in  the  smallest  cups  Sally 
had  ever  seen.  There  was  no  milk  served  with  it,  and 
Sally,  although  she  drank  because  she  saw  Ursula  doing  so, 
thought  she  had  never  tasted  anything  so  nasty. 

"  I  have  bought  twelve  yards  of  black  merino,  and 
engaged  a  dressmaker  to  come  and  help  you  make  it.  I 
inquired  of  Mr.  Perry,  and  he  said  you  must  be  in  black, 
but  the  smarter  the  better  if  you  were  to  go  to  the  show- 
room ;  he'd  make  up  his  mind  when  he  saw  you  It  will  be 
that  or  the  work-room." 

74 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  I  don't  care  which." 

"  But  I  think  Lady  Dorothea  will  care."  Ursula  Buge« 
ley,  too,  had  been  impressed  by  the  impulsive  manner. 
"It  seemed  to  me  that  that  was  her  intention,  and,  since 
she  has  been  so  kind,  you  must  try  not  to  disappoint  her." 

"  I  ain't  going  to  disappoint  her." 

That  first  night  Ursula  abstained  from  commenting  on 
the  grammar : 

"  Then  there  is  the  question  of  hair,  and  .  .  .  and  hat. 
I  did  not  quite  like  the  one  you  had  to-day,"  she  said 
delicately. 

It  represented  a  week's  wages  and  an  infinity  of  dis- 
cussion between  her  and  Mary  Murray,  also  many  visits  i.o 
many  shops  in  the  Borough  and  other  popular  quarters; 
but  already  Sally  herself  did  not  like  it. 

"They  give  me  half  wages  all  the  time  I've  been  in 
'ospital.  I  can  get  all  I  want." 

"  The  merino  is  my  present  to  you ;  you  must  not  spend 
all  your  savings.  Nothing  was  said  by  Mr.  Perry  about 
wages ;  the  girls  live  in." 

"  I've  always  earned  all  I  wanted." 

"Well,  the  great  point  is,  how  ought  the  dress  to  be 
made  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  I  go  and  look  in  the  winders  to-morrow,  and 
see  the  fashions  ?  " 

"It  isn't  exactly  the  fashions  we  want.  We  want  to 
know  what  is  expected  for  your  position." 

"  Gals  in  show-rooms  ?  " 

"  They  always  call  them  '  young  ladies,' "  said  Ursula 
perplexedly. 

Sally  showed  all  her  teeth  at  that,  smiling  as  if  she  liked 
the  sound  of  the  two  words. 

"  I'll  be  all  right,"  she  said  confidently. 

Afterwards  they  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  and  continued 

75 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

to  talk  about  Sally's  outfit.  The  drawing-room  furniture 
was  rosewood,  and  it  was  upholstered  in  tapestry.  Sally 
quickly  saw  the  difference  between  this  clean,  simple  room 
and  the  luxuriant  fulness  of  the  Curzon  Street  sanctum, 
with  its  pictures  and  jade,  ivories  and  silver,  flowers, 
sofa  cushions,  and  palms.  The  mischief  of  it  was  that  she 
so  greatly  preferred  the  Chepstow  Villa  style.  All  the 
woodwork  shone,  and  one  could  see  everything  at  once  in 
the  clearness  of  the  incandescent  lights.  There  were 
water-colours  on  the  walls,  amateur  efforts  for  the  most 
part,  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Eugeley,  and  one  of  Mr.  Eugeley, 
with  whiskers,  in  the  place  of  honour,  and  also  some  one's 
faded  grandmother,  with  side  curls  and  a  simper.  Some 
daguerreotypes,  and  a  seascape  in  a  gilt  frame,  that  had 
been  won  at  a  raffle,  completed  the  wall  decoration.  Sally 
liked  the  china  vases  with  dyed  grasses  standing  on  the 
round  table,  where  the  bound  books  lay  so  regularly. 
The  lustre-pieces  on  the  mantel-shelf  were  beautiful  to  her, 
and  so  was  the  ormolu  clock.  There  was  not  a  speck  of 
dust  anywhere,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  sat 
where,  from  the  wide-open  windows,  came  no  sound  of 
brawling,  no  smell  of  dirt  or  poverty.  Everything  was 
peaceful  in  the  quiet  street. 

It  was  decided,  before  they  went  to  bed,  that  Ursula 
should  adapt,  or  buy  her,  a  quiet  hat,  and  a  black  coat: 
with  these  and  her  present  skirt,  she  could  venture, 
on  some  pretext  or  another,  into  a  West  End  shop  and 
take  a  mental  picture  of  what  the  saleswomen  were  wear- 
ing. Then  they  would  fashion  a  dress  at  home,  and  per- 
haps a  blouse  for  the  interview  with  Mr.  Perry  that  was  to 
decide  which  post  would  be  given  to  Sally. 


CHAPTER  V 

Sally  Snape  who  presented  herself  to  Mr.  Perry  at 
nine,  punctually,  on  the  eventful  Monday  morning 
that  witnessed  her  first  professional  appearance  in  the 
West  End  of  London,  was  not  only  decorously,  but  be- 
comingly dressed.  And  she  made  an  immediate  impression. 

It  was  wonderful  what  the  week  had  done  for  her,  not- 
withstanding the  limited  menus.  They  had  been  supple- 
mented with  morning  and  evening  milk,  and  like  milk 
was  the  creamy  pallor  of  her  skin.  Her  green  eyes,  with 
the  dark  lashes,  shone  brilliantly.  She  had  no  colour,  her 
nervousness  banished  it,  only  the  lips  had  a  touch  of  pink ; 
breath  came  quickly  through  the  short  tip-tilted  nose.  She 
had  discarded  her  stick,  she  held  her  head  erect,  notwith- 
standing its  burden  of  red  plaits.  Even  a  tyro  could  see 
the  possibilities  of  the  young  svelte  figure  in  the  neat  black 
dress. 

Mr.  Perry  was  seated  at  his  formidable  office  table.  He 
did  not  attempt  to  rise,  but  motioned  Sally  to  stand  oppo- 
site to  him. 

John  Perry  was  a  man  with  a  personality ;  whether  one 
liked  the  personality  or  not  depended  on  the  individual 
taste.  All  Mr.  Perry's  business  life  had  been  concerned 
with  women,  and  the  wonder  of  their  clothes.  His  appear- 
ance was  striking ;  his  figure  big,  but  failing  to  give  the 
impression  of  strength,  an  excess  of  flesh  apparently  cover- 
ing little  bone  or  muscle.  He  never  stood  straight  up- 
right, with  legs  together,  but  always  slackly,  often  sitting 

77 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

down  or  leaning  against  something,  a  weakness  of  attitude 
incongruous  with  an  apparent  strength  of  build.  His 
face  was  handsome,  reminiscent,  with  its  dark  hair,  of 
the  Napoleon  tradition,  but  a  Napoleon  over-fed  and  over- 
indulged, with  small  aims.  The  smooth,  heavily  falling 
flesh  was  set  in  few  but  well-defined  creases ;  the  jaw  was 
massive,  but  formed  by  indolence  and  not  achievement; 
the  mouth  closely  shaven;  his  dark  eyes  were  bright, 
alert,  full  of  intelligence,  almost  of  genius. 

Mr.  Perry  was  always  well  groomed,  and  it  was  obvious 
that  he  bestowed  time  and  thought  on  his  clothes.  They 
were  well  cut  and  dark :  an  ample,  double-breasted  jacket 
was  worn  over  a  rather  showy  striped  black  and  white 
flannel  waistcoat.  His  thick  bull  neck  necessitated  a 
turn-down  collar ;  his  black  necktie  was  loosely  tied,  and 
carried  a  handsome  pearl  pin.  His  clothes  were  neither 
conventional  nor  eccentric,  they  were  merely  expressive. 

His  manner,  at  the  best,  was  impatient;  at  its  worst, 
brutal.  Sally  Snape  found  him  imposing;  he  arrested 
her  attention,  filling  her  horizon  immediately,  and  block- 
ing all  other  light. 

"Stand  over  there;  don't  you  understand  what  I  say 
to  you  ?  "  was  his  first  impatient  order  to  her.  "  I  want 
to  look  at  you.  So,  you  are  the  young  lady  that  Lady 
Dorothea  Lytham  recommended.  What  can  you  do? 
that's  what  I  want  to  know.  What  can  you  do  ?  Take 
your  hat  off,  please.  Be  quick  about  it,  it  won't  do  to 
drowse  about  here.  Now,  Miss  Baines,  please,  Miss  Baines." 
He  raised  his  voice.  "This  is  Miss  Snape.  Where  do 
we  want  help  ?  " 

Miss  Baines,  who  came  quickly  at  his  call,  from  some 
inner  sanctum  shrouded  with  mysterious  dress  closets  and 
drawers,  and  littered  with  big  wooden  boxes,  was  Mr. 
Perry's  right  hand.  She  had  golden  hair,  elaborately 

78 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

dressed,  and  she  rustled  in  elegant  silk  garments.     But  she 
was  a  business-woman  nevertheless. 

She  came  through  the  curtains  and  eyed  Sally  with  just 
the  same  frankly  professional  air  as  John  Perry,  but  more 
kindly,  less  impersonally. 

"We  want  help  everywhere,"  she  said.  "I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  where  to  turn  first,  we're  driven  to  death." 

But  this  was  quite  a  perfunctory  speech.  Miss  Baines 
was  always  overworked,  and  driven  to  death.  And,  al- 
though she  was  never  to  be  found  far  from  a  glass,  and  the 
arrangement  of  her  hair  was  an  almost  hourly  ceremony 
with  her,  she  was  yet  one  of  the  most  capable  forewomen 
in  London,  and  a  tower  of  strength  to  any  firm. 

Sally,  with  arms  upraised  to  remove  her  hat,  showed  a 
grace  of  figure  and  gesture  that  led  Miss  Baines'  eyes  to 
Mr.  Perry's.  They  understood  each  other  perfectly,  these 
two ;  they  had  worked  side  by  side  for  seven  years  at 
Madame  Pamela's.  Their  mutual  glance  said,  "  Show- 
room." 

Sally  had  parted  her  hair  in  the  middle,  as  Lady  Doro- 
thea had  advised,  and,  under  Miss  Eugeley's  guidance, 
had  made  one  huge  plait  of  it  to  wind  round  her  head,  a 
new  fashion  then,  but  one  that  speedily  came  into  vogue. 

"  Is  that  all  your  own  hair,  child  ?  "  said  Mr.  Perry,  with 
the  same  abruptness,  but  in  a  kinder  tone  than  he  had 
used  before.  He  did  not  like  the  protegees  of  great  ladies, 
and  had  been  prepared  to  dismiss  Sally  to  the  obscurity  of 
the  work-room.  Sally's  sudden  smile  at  his  question  was 
good  to  see. 

"  I  haven't  had  no  money  to  buy  false." 

"  No  money !  haven't  had  no  money !  Oh,  Lord  ! " 
He  turned  to  Miss  Baines,  and  again  they  mutely  questioned 
each  other. 

"  Why  don't  you  say  '  any  money '  ?  " 

79 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Sally  reddened  at  that;  the  slight  flush  on  the  milky 
skin  warmed  her  whole  face. 

"I  forgot,"  she  said  meekly.  She  had  learnt  so  much 
in  the  past  week  that  it  had  got  congested.  "  My  hair  is 
all  my  own.  Shall  I  take  it  down  ?  " 

"No,  no.  Here,  you  .  .  .  one  of  you  boys  .  .  ." 
Again  he  raised  his  voice,  and  more  than  one  errand  boy 
in  the  elaborate  uniform  of  the  establishment  ran  in.  "  Go 
up  to  Miss  Thompson's  and  tell  her  to  come  down  here 
with  the  box  of  millinery  that  came  from  Paris  this  morn- 
ing. Tell  her  to  hurry."  Then  he  turned  to  Miss  Baines : 
"  We'll  try  her  with  the  Bibout  models  ;  those  plaits  must 
come  down  an  inch  to  fit  the  ttandeau." 

Miss  Baines  asked  Sally  a  few  questions  whilst  they 
waited. 

"  Sally  Snape !  Oh,  we  don't  know  '  Sally  '  here.  Miss 
Sarah  Snape,  I  suppose  you  mean.  And  what  have  you 
been  doing  up  to  now  ?  Can  you  sew  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  the  tailoring." 

"  In  the  tailoring,"  she  mimicked  good-humouredly 
for  Mr.  Perry's  entertainment.  "And  where  may  that 
have  been  ?  At  Poole's  ?  "  Mr.  Perry  laughed.  Both 
were  in  good  humour,  they  knew  they  had  a  find.  They 
were  of  a  rare  type,  whole-hearted  in  their  business.  To 
them  was  due  the  fact,  soon  to  become  generally  acknow- 
ledged, that  the  establishment  in  Brook  Street  was  the 
only  one  run  by  a  lady  which  was  a  real  success.  Sally's 
catechism  was  of  no  moment ;  her  head  and  figure  were  just 
what  they  needed,  they  only  talked  to  her  to  pass  the  time. 

"  Kirstenblum  was  the  name,"  Sally  answered  simply. 

"  Did  you  do  any  trying-on  there  ?  " 

"The  trousers?"  she  asked  in  bewilderment.  "Why 
no,  marm,  I  ..." 

Of  course  they  both  laughed. 

80 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Since  then  I've  been  at  Messrs.  Hall  &  Palmer's.  I 
was  in  the  jam  there,  but  I  made  my  own  pinafores." 

It  was  characteristic  of  Miss  Baines  and  Mr.  Perry  that 
they  talked  before  her  as  if  she  had  not  been  there.  After 
a  few  more  questions  and  answers,  Miss  Thompson  and  the 
millinery  not  having  yet  appeared,  Mr.  Perry  said : 

"  She'll  want  a  lot  of  training.  Meanwhile,  if  we  use 
her  at  all  this  season,  she'll  just  have  to  be  taught  to  hold 
her  tongue.  Now,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  her,  in 
or  out  ?  " 

For  whilst  some  of  the  young  ladies  at  Madame  Vio- 
letta's  were  accommodated  on  the  premises,  the  bulk 
of  them  had  to  make  their  own  arrangements.  Miss 
Baines  thought,  and  Mr.  Perry  thought,  then  simultane- 
ously they  exclaimed  — 

"  Miss  Carthew." 

"  Have  you  made  any  arrangements  for  living  ?  "  Miss 
Baines  asked. 

"  Miss  Eugeley  said  I  was  to  live  in." 

"  That  is  the  lady  who  came  to  us  about  her  from  Lady 
Dorothea,"  Mr.  Perry  explained.  "  I  suppose  it's  all  the 
same  to  you  whether  we  pay  your  room  outside  or  here  ?  " 

"  It's  all  the  same." 

Then  there  followed  a  strange  hour.  For  Miss  Thompson 
arrived  with  the  millinery,  and  she  and  Miss  Baines,  under 
the  animated  guidance  of  Mr.  Perry,  dressed  Sally  up, 
now  in  this,  now  in  the  other,  beautiful  garments.  Her 
hair  was  pulled  forward  by  one,  loosened  over  her  forehead 
by  the  other,  spread  out  behind  her  ears ;  then  a  hat  was 
perched  upon  it,  a  feathered  stole  being  placed  around  her 
neck.  She  was  ordered  to  walk  this  way  and  that.  The 
peremptory  order  always  came  from  Mr.  Perry,  who  stood 
a  little  distance  off. 

"  That  will  do,  Miss  Thompson,"  or  "  That  will  do,  Miss 
G  81 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Baines;  take  them  away,  please.    Now  try  on  .  .  .  so  and  so, 
or  so  and  so." 

He  ran  through  a  dozen  models  with  her,  sometimes 
leaving  the  adjustment  to  the  women,  sometimes  coming 
over  himself,  tying  a  bow,  adjusting  a  feather,  on  one 
occasion  taking  out  a  couple  of  hairpins  and  shaking  her 
hair  loose,  then  pinning  it  up  again  to  suit  a  French  mon- 
strosity of  flowers  and  tulle. 

It  was  amazing  to  see  him  at  work ;  his  instinct,  and 
the  perfection  of  his  knowledge  were  so  intimate,  so  exact. 
His  well-made  hands  moved,  one  had  said,  intellectually, 
among  the  chiffons,  making  unerring  effects.  He  never 
made  an  alteration  that  was  not  an  improvement.  His 
taste  was  extraordinary,  his  certainty  remarkable. 

Sally  looked  well  in  everything.  The  women  silently 
acknowledged  it,  and  Mr.  Perry  showed  his  satisfaction 
by  calling  Sally  "child,"  and  ordering  her  to  move  this 
way  or  that,  quite  kindly.  He  habitually  bullied  the  girls, 
but  few  of  them  resented  it.  It  was  so  obviously  imper- 
sonal; they  were  not  girls  to  him,  only  lay  figures.  His 
clever  fingers  manipulated  the  clothes  they  bore,  and, 
when  he  was  disappointed  in  the  effects,  it  was  natural 
he  should  be  irritated  at  the  cause,  their  awkwardness, 
or  un suitability,  their  carriage  or  carelessness.  They  saw 
him  almost  the  same  to  the  ladies  who  came  to  be  fitted. 
He  would  rush  upstairs  to  the  fitting-room,  enter  without 
ceremony,  no  matter  in  what  stage  or  condition  of  toilette 
the  ladies  might  be,  and,  after  a  moment's  contemplation, 
he  would  take  scissors  or  pins  from  the  quiescent  tailor 
or  fitter,  and  rip  out  a  sleeve,  tear  off  a  trimming,  or  re- 
construct a  bodice,  totally  disregarding  the  feelings  of  his 
client.  He  knew.  That  was  the  secret  of  it.  He  had  an 
instinct,  a  feeling  for  woman's  dress,  that  never  erred. 
The  man  himself  was  quite  unique. 

82 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

This  was  almost  the  beginning  of  his  career.  Here,  for 
the  first  time,  his  genius  was  recognized  and  his  authority 
upheld.  At  Pamela's  he  was  the  nominal  head,  but  with- 
out a  free  hand.  Here  he  was  the  nominal  subordinate, 
but  the  very  real  head.  And  already  the  result  was  de- 
claring itself. 

Sally  resented  nothing  Mr.  Perry  did  or  said,  and,  with 
her  quick  perception,  rapidly  began  to  understand  what 
was  required  of  her.  At  eleven  the  first  customer  came, 
and,  after  the  usual  silent  consultation,  Sally  was  told  to 
follow  Miss  Baines  into  the  show-room,  to  hold  her 
tongue,  and  keep  her  head  up.  At  that  moment  her 
black  dress  was  surmounted  by  an  exquisite  confec- 
tion of  Tuscan  straw  and  roses,  and  round  her  neck 
was  a  ruffle  of  real  lace  caught  together  with  the  same 
flowers.  She  carried  the  daintiest  of  muffs',  and  stood 
quite  silently  whilst  Miss  Baines  exhibited  her  to  Miss 
Mosenstein,  who  had  arrived,  accompanied  by  her  mother 
and  two  sisters,  to  select  some  garments  for  her  trousseau. 
Miss  Baines'  methods  were  those  of  a  mother  with  a  new 
baby: 

"Aren't  they  lovely?"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Mosenstein. 
"  Mr.  Perry  brought  them  back  with  him  from  Paris  only 
last  night;  he  wouldn't  leave  them  to  be  sent  on.  You 
ought  to  have  them,  Miss  Mosenstein.  They  would  go 
with  that  white  voile  of  yours  at  Goodwood.  Lady  Wen- 
lake  wore  a  set  rather  like  them  at  the  Grand  Prix,  and  the 
Grand  Duke  asked  her  where  she  got  them.  Doucet  had 
an  order  for  the  set  in  sable  and  ermine,  with  white  steph- 
anotis;  Mr.  Perry  saw  them,  he  said  they  were  exqui- 
site. Would  you  like  to  try  them  on  ?  Do  stand  still, 
child."  Sally  had  not  stirred,  but  Miss  Baines  gave  the 
ruffle  a  little  pat,  and  the  muff  a  little  caress. 

"Aren't  they  lovely?"  she  said  again,  contemplating 

83 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

them  with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  as  if  lost  in  admira- 
tion. 

What  Mr.  Perry  had  really  said,  and  said  in  Sally's 
hearing,  was: 

"  That  lot  won't  do.  Edgware  Koad.  Put  them  back 
for  the  sale.  No,  stay,  there  are  the  Mosensteins.  They 
shall  have  them.  They  will  suit  Miss  Amy  best,  the  tall 
one ;  they  won't  look  vulgar  on  her." 

They  did  not  bite  very  readily,  and  Mr.  Perry  was  called. 

"  Very  smart,  aren't  they  ? "  he  asked  of  Mrs.  Mosen- 
stein.  Then  he  took  the  ruff  off  Sally,  and  personally 
flung  it  round  Miss  Lilla's  neck.  Next  he  gave  her  the 
muff,  and  contemplated  the  effect,  first  close,  then  from 
a  little  distance,  then  further  off.  He  came  forward  dis- 
tressed, and  shook  his  head. 

"No,  they  don't  suit  her,  they  won't  do.  There  is  too 
much  of  it  for  her."  Already  all  the  Mosensteins  were 
in  a  flutter  of  excitement ;  it  was  not  often  Mr.  Perry 
attended  to  them  personally.  The  personal  attention  of 
Mr.  Perry  was  rapidly  becoming  the  goal  of  ambition  of 
every  woman  who  "  dressed  "  in  their  particular  social  set. 

Mr.  Perry  talked  to  Mrs.  Mosenstein  for  fully  five  minutes 
on  indifferent  subjects,  the  weather,  the  London  season, 
motor  cars  generally  and  her  new  Eenault  in  particular. 
Then  he  told  Miss  Lilla  abruptly  that  she  was  to  wear  an 
Irish  crochet  wedding-dress,  over  dead  white  merve,  the 
lace  was  to  be  very  fine  and  specially  made  for  her.  She 
was  to  have  a  biscuit-coloured  cloth  going-away  dress, 
hand-embroidered  with  orange  blossoms. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  things  over  whilst  I  was  talking 
to  your  mother."  He  considered  her  as  if  she  was  at  last 
his  chief  objective.  "  Miss  Jones,  Miss  Plummer,"  he 
raised  his  voice.  "Come  along,  you  girls,  please,  put 
on  .  .  ."  so  and  so  ...  and  so  and  so  ...  a  list  of 

84 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

clothes  that  were  to  be  exhibited  to  the  bride-elect.  He 
stayed  whilst  the  girls  paraded  in  white  lace  over  silk, 
and  in  embroidered  cloth.  He  went  into  intimate  detail 
about  Miss  Lilla's  figure,  and  explained  how  he  would 
alter  this  model,  and  adapt  that  mode.  He  was  sitting 
confidentially  beside  Mrs.  Mosenstein  on  the  lounge  during 
the  greater  part  of  this  parade. 

"That  will  do,  that  will  do,"  he  said  at  length,  rising 
stiffly.  "I  will  see  all  the  clothes  fitted.  Now  then." 
It  seemed  he  was  suddenly  aware  that  Sally  was  still 
standing  by  him,  the  muff  and  ruff  having  been  restored 
to  her.  "Take  that  off,  no,  wait  a  minute.  There,  that 
will  do."  He  had  seized  her  ruff  and  the  muff  again.  He 
made  Miss  Amy,  the  youngest  and  prettiest  of  the  Mosen- 
steins,  stand  up  as  if  she  had  been  a  model.  "  Take  your 
hat  off,  please."  He  even  spoke  to  her  just  the  same  way. 
She  was  a  handsome  Jewess  with  black  eyes  and  hair,  and 
a  bright  colour ;  the  fanciful  garments  undeniably  suited 
her. 

"Pull  your  hair  out  a  little,  you  wear  it  too  tight,"  he 
said  impatiently.  "Now  take  the  muff.  That's  right." 
He  made  her  parade  in  front  of  the  glass.  She  looked 
undeniably  handsome ;  on  her  light  muslin  dress  the  things 
made  more  effect  than  over  Sally's  black,  or  her  sister's 
brown. 

With  an  air  as  if  he  were  conferring  a  great  favour  he 
turned  to  Mrs.  Mosenstein.  He  had  seen  her  expression ; 
he  had  even  gathered  that  Amy  was  the  favourite  daughter, 
he  saw  the  light  of  admiring  love  on  the  fat  face  of  the 
mother. 

"That  will  be  a  triumph,"  he  said;  "you  shall  have 
these  for  the  bridesmaid  dresses,  simple  cream  frocks,  in 
voile  or  taffeta;  hats,  ruffles,  and  muffs  to  match."  He 
was  extraordinarily  triumphant,  posing  Miss  Amy  whilst 

85 


he  talked,  altering  tlie  poise  of  the  hat,  patting  the  muff 
into  position. 

"  I  call  that  a  good  morning's  work,  settling  the  wedding- 
dress,  the  going-away  dress,  and  the  bridesmaids'.  Oh, 
excuse  me,  that  is  the  Countess  of  Laffan  just  coming  in. 
I  must  speak  to  her.  Miss  Baines.  .  .  ." 

Miss  Baines  hurried  to  take  his  place.  She  congratulated 
Mrs.  Mosenstein  on  all  that  had  been  done.  When  they 
settled  down  in  earnest  to  discuss  prices,  and  the  sums 
took  away  their  breath,  she  was  very  ready  to  suggest 
economies. 

"Why  not  have  imitation  instead  of  real  Irish  ?  "  and 
then  the  difference  in  price  was  threshed  out.  "  Or  violets 
instead  of  roses  ?  Those  roses  are  specially  made  for  us  ; 
you'd  be  surprised  if  you  knew  what  they  cost  us.  Why, 
we  pay  a  guinea  for  every  rose  that  comes  into  the  place. 
Mr.  Perry  won't  have  any  but  the  best.  Why  not  have 
violets  ?  " 

By  the  time  Mrs.  Mosenstein  was  wavering  between 
roses  at  a  guinea  and  violets  at  seven-and-six,  Mr.  Perry 
had  finished  with  the  Countess. 

"  Mrs.  Mosenstein  thinks  she  would  rather  have  the 
wedding-dress  of  a  cheaper  lace."  Miss  Baines  spoke 
apologetically,  she  hardly  liked  to  trouble  him  in  the  matter. 
Mr.  Perry  never  discussed  prices,  it  was  not  his  depart- 
ment. He  always  said  he  knew  nothing  about  money; 
he  knew  about  clothes,  and  how  they  ought  to  look.  It 
was  Miss  Baines  who  attended  to  these  sordid  details. 

He  would  not  listen  to  the  suggestion  of  cheaper  lace 
for  the  wedding-dress,  or  violets  instead  of  roses.  He 
pooh-poohed  the  idea. 

"  Either  have  the  whole  thing,  as  I  have  said,  or  don't 
have  it  at  all,"  he  said  impatiently.  "  Believe  me,  it  will 
be  a  failure  if  it's  not  carried  out  exactly.  Why  do  you 

86 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

go  behind  what  I   say  ?  "    he  asked   Miss   Baines   queru- 
lously.    "You  know  it  would  look  poor  and  trumpery." 

"  Oh,  yes,  /  know,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyebrows. 

Mrs.  Mosenstein  felt  the  implied  rebuke.  All  her  bar- 
gaining instincts  and  habitudes  were  lost  before  this  arbi- 
trary dictator. 

Sally  got  her  first  lesson  in  business  that  morning.  She 
was  sent  out  of  the  show-room  presently  with  orders  to  see 
that  the  things  were  put  away  carefully;  they  were  not 
to  be  taken  out  again. 

Miss  Thompson  had  promised  to  show  them  to  the 
Duchess,  but  the  Duchess  must  be  disappointed,  they  had 
been  selected  for  the  Mosenstein  wedding,  and  no  one  else 
could  have  them. 

"But  you  won't  object  to  having  them  sketched  for 
(  The  Chatelaine,'  will  you  ?  "  Miss  Baines  begged,  and,  of 
course,  the  Mosensteins  were  delighted  that  their  brides- 
maids' dresses  should  have  this  publicity. 

About  four  times  during  the  day  Sally  was  sent  forth 
wearing  these  same  exclusively  reserved  garments.  She 
noted  that  when  Miss  Baines  exhibited  them  they  were 
admired  but  unsold.  On  the  solitary  occasion  when  Mr. 
Perry  had  leisure  to  attend  to  Miss  Baines'  customer,  his 
authoritative  dictum  of  "  complete  suitability  "  was  always 
accepted.  Once  gardenias  were  insisted  upon  as  being 
more  recherche',  a  new  word  for  Sally,  than  roses,  and 
their  price  became  the  extra  guinea;  the  roses,  having 
now  sunk  to  seven-and-six,  were  treated  contemptuously  by 
Mr.  Perry.  Roses  were  not  "  chic,"  everybody  had  roses. 

"  Oh,  no,  milady,  really  you  must  not  have  roses.  Why, 
in  Paris  nobody  wears  roses  this  season,  gardenias  are  all 
the  rage.  I  was  at  the  Grand  Prix  last  Sunday,  and  .  .  ." 

The  story  went  as  before,  with  its  trifling  variation,  and 
again  the  sale  was  effected. 

87 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

Sally's  first  day  gave  her  completely  new  impres- 
sions. She  was  full  of  them  when  she  walked  home 
somewhere  about  eight  o'clock  that  evening  with  Elfrida 
Carthew,  the  companion  selected  for  her  by  the  united 
wisdom  of  Miss  Baines  and  Mr.  Perry. 

Elfrida  Carthew  was  a  very  pretty  girl ;  she,  too,  had 
been  at  Pamela's  before  coming  to  Brook  Street.  An 
interval  of  two  years  had  elapsed  between  her  leaving 
Pamela's  and  applying  for  work  at  Violetta's.  But  both 
John  Perry  and  Miss  Baines  guessed  where  she  had  been. 

"Well,  Mr.  Perry,  you  know  yourself  I  can  sell  hats," 
she  had  pleaded  when  she  was  asking  to  be  taken  on.  "I 
made  a  fool  of  myself  when  I  left  you  before,  but  it  won't 
happen  again." 

"You  must  see  that  it  don't;  we  don't  want  any  but 
respectable  girls  here." 

"  Oh !  as  for  that  .  .  ." 

"  No,  I  don't  want  any  explanations ;  you  were  always 
inclined  to  be  impudent.  If  we  take  you  on  you'll  have 
to  behave  very  differently." 

Elfrida  was  very  young,  barely  twenty-one,  and  she  was 
very  hard  up.  Miss  Baines  was  sympathetic  and  curious,  Mr. 
Perry  was  off-hand  and  domineering ;  but  both  of  them  were 
willing  to  take  her.  For,  as  she  said,  she  was  a  good  sales- 
woman, and  if  it  were  true  that  she  had  been  idle  and  im- 
pudent in  the  Regent  Street  days,  she  was  humbled  for  the 
moment,  and  ready  to  put  up  with  both  of  them. 

And  they  had  taken  a  practical  view  of  the  matter. 

"  He  has  thrown  her  over,  I  suppose  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Perry,  who  never  indulged  in  gossip,  but  always  listened 
to  any  with  which  Miss  Baines  favoured  him. 

"Yes;  he  has  had  to  rejoin  his  regiment.  I  don't 
think  he  made  any  provision  for  her.  She  has  been  ill 
since  he  left ;  I  heard  she  had  to  go  under  an  operation." 

88 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Well,  the  experience  has  done  her  good;  she  holds 
herself  more  upright,  puts  her  clothes  on  better.  She  has 
been  about  and  seen  things.  I  suppose  she  will  behave 
herself,  and  not  get  talking  to  the  other  girls  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  in  rather  low  water.  But  she  is  not  the 
sort  of  girl  we  can  be  very  sure  of.  She'll  find  some  one 
else." 

"We  can't  stop  to  think  of  that.  She  might  do  very 
well  for  herself  one  day ;  she's  got  the  figure.  But  don't 
let  any  one  hang  about  her  here  ;  we  can't  allow  that,  you 
know." 

It  was  only  last  week  that  Elfrida's  engagement  had 
commenced.  They  had  not  been  able  to  find  room  for  her 
to  live  in  Brook  Street.  It  was  not  part  of  their  business 
to  safeguard  her  from  temptation.  There  was  no  doubt 
her  adventure  had  improved  her  manners.  She  was  more 
lady-like,  less  impudent,  a  better  saleswoman  all  round, 
and  more  in  tune  with  the  refinements  of  their  business. 
She  had  been  rough,  unformed,  somewhat  common : 

"  Miss  Snape  wants  polish,"  Mr.  Perry  had  said.  He 
had  laughed  when  Miss  Baines  said  she  would  get  some 
knowledge  of  the  world  from  Elfrida  Carthew.  He  had 
a  deep-rooted  contempt  for  women  and  girls  and  their 
little  vices  and  vanities.  But  he  recognized  that  Miss 
Sarah  Snape  was  more  unworldly  than  the  majority,  that 
she  probably  had  even  more  to  learn.  He  thought  it  a 
good  idea  that  Miss  Carthew  should  be  entrusted  with  the 
first  toning  down  of  that  crude  material. 

Elfrida  was  more  than  willing.  She  hated  being  alone  ; 
she  was  acutely  alone  just  now.  She  and  Sally  quickly 
fraternized.  Now  they  were  walking  home  together. 

"  This  is  your  first  venture  in  business  ?  "  she  asked 
Sally  curiously.  "  Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  like  it  ? 
Mr.  Perry  has  taken  a  fancy  to  you,  I  don't  envy  you 

89 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

that ;  you'll  be  called  out  ten  times  to  everybody  else's 
once,  you'll  be  bullied  before  customers,  and  told  how  to 
do  your  hair,  and  lace  your  stays,  and  hold  your  shoulders. 
Oh  !  he's  a  fair  caution,  he  is.  He  hates  me ;  he  just  lets 
me  do  my  work,  and  never  interferes.  Of  course,  it  means 
our  department  won't  pay  as  well  as  the  downstairs  hat 
department.  But,  thank  heavens,  he  can't  be  every- 
where." 

"  Don't  you  like  him  ?  "  asked  Sally  wonderingly. 

"  Like  him ! "  Elfrida  made  an  expressive  grimace. 
"  I  should  think  I  don't.  Who  could  ?  He  treats  you 
as  if  you  were  made  of  wax  or  wood,  he  don't  know  the 
difference  between  a  girl  and  a  wire  figure ;  he's  an  over- 
bearing, bullying  .  .  ." 

Words  failed  her.  She  had  tried  to  get  up  a  flirtation 
with  Mr.  Perry  in  the  old  days,  and,  when  she  looked  well 
in  hats,  or  sold  hats  well,  Mr.  Perry  had  called  her  "  child," 
and  been  kind  to  her.  But  when  she  had  been  low- 
spirited,  and  the  new  models  had  failed  to  suit  her,  when 
a  customer  had  tried  her  beyond  her  limited  patience, 
and  she  had  been  curt  and  unsuccessful,  he  had  never 
given  her  a  word  of  sympathy. 

"  He  isn't  a  man  at  all,"  she  told  Sally;  "he's  a  machine. 
How  many  times  have  you  had  that  lace  and  rose  set 
on  to-day  ?  " 

"  Five  or  six."  • 

"  And  you'll  have  it  on  eight  or  ten  to-morrow." 

"I  like  showing  off  the  things,"  Sally  said  earnestly. 
That  was  the  voicing  of  her  first  definite  impression.  She 
liked  seeing  herself,  feeling  herself,  in  the  fine  things. 

"  Do  you  ? "  asked  the  other  satirically.  "  And  per- 
haps you  like  Mr.  Perry  ?  " 

Sally  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  answered  truth- 
fully - 

90 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

"  Yes,  I  like  him,"  she  said.  The  rest  of  the  way  to  her 
new  home  Sally's  companion  found  nothing  to  say. 

As  the  days  of  her  apprenticeship  went  on,  these  views 
deepened  and  became  confirmed.  She  liked  trying  on  the 
beautiful  clothes,  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass,  becoming 
daily  more  conscious  how  well  fine  raiment  became  her. 
She  liked  altering  her  hair  to  please  Mr.  Perry,  and  to 
suit  his  Paris  purchases.  She  liked  the  vaguely-growing 
consciousness  of  her  good  looks.  It  was  undeniably  true 
that  Mr.  Perry  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her.  He  had  her 
constantly  with  him,  she  was  for  ever  being  sent  for,  being 
rapidly  buttoned  or  hooked  into  this  or  the  other  confec- 
tion, being  turned  round  and  exhibited  in  embroidered 
muslins  and  ermine  stoles,  in  lace  paletots  and  picture 
hats,  in  opera  cloaks  and  motor  coats,  in  feather  boas  and 
evening  toques. 

And  Mr.  Perry  spoke  of  her  to  Miss  Baines.  There  was 
no  secret  about  it,  every  one  heard  him.  He  said  — 

"  That  girl  looks  well  in  everything ;  they  all  suit  her, 
and  they  all  fit  her.  Come  here,  Miss  Snape,  please."  It 
was  always  "Come  here,  Miss  Snape,  please,"  and  some 
new  way  of  dressing  her  up  was  devised. 

Of  course,  it  was  impossible  to  be  an  artist  in  clothes, 
.like  Mr.  Perry,  and  not  realize  that  Miss  Sarah  Snape  had 
the  most  exquisitely  slender  figure,  rounded  girlish  breasts 
and  slender  waist,  just  the  right  length  from  supple  hip 
to  knee.  It  was  never  the  women  who  saw  any  beauty 
in  her,  but  few  men  could  miss  seeing  it.  She  was  per- 
fectly formed:  the  small,  rather  flat  little  head,  with  its 
wide  brow  and  ignorant  eyes,  was  set  upon  the  prettiest 
of  white  throats. 

Before  Sally  came  to  Brook  Street  it  had  been  the  custom 
to  exhibit  evening  frocks  over  a  light  pink  or  cream-coloured 
jersey.  The  young  ladies  wore  these  as  they  walked  round 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

to  show  the  d£collet6  garments.  But  after  Sally's  coming, 
and  in  consultation  with  Miss  Baines,  Mr.  Perry  decided 
that  Miss  Snape  could  show  the  evening  frocks  as  they 
should  be  worn,  with  the  neck  and  arms  bare.  And  they 
sold  a  phenomenal  number  of  evening  frocks  during  the 
first  month  of  Miss  S nape's  coming. 

At  first  Sally  had  hated  the  ordeal,  growing  red  and  hot 
and  uncomfortable  under  the  observation  of  the  customers, 
or  of  Mr.  Perry.  She  had  hated  and  resented  it,  when,  in 
adjusting  a  tucker,  tying  a  ribbon,  placing  or  replacing 
a  flower,  his  spatulate  warm  fingers  had  touched  her 
skin,  or  his  close  vicinity  to  her  had  tried  her  composure. 
But  extraordinarily  soon  all  these  feelings  had  worn  off. 
It  was  impossible  for  Sarah  Snape  not  to  realize  that, 
wherever  Mr.  Perry's  clever  fingers  might  wander,  Mr. 
Perry  himself  never  wandered  from  the  subject  in  hand. 
And  that  subject  was  always  dress,  the  completion  of  it, 
the  fitness  of  it,  the  perfection  of  it.  Whatever  strange 
home  or  personal  life  Mr.  Perry  might  lead  outside  business 
hours,  inside  them,  in  Brook  Street,  his  genius  was  one- 
sided. That  Miss  Snape  looked  better  than  any  one  else 
in  his  purchases  or  creations  was,  all  this  time,  her  sole 
raison  d'etre  in  his  eyes.  He  did  once  ask  her  how  she 
was  getting  on  with  Miss  Carthew,  but  it  is  doubtful 
whether  he  waited  for  the  answer.  He  was  getting  on, 
the  business  was  getting  on,  better  than  it  had  seemed 
possible.  Already  all  fashionable  London  knew  Mr. 
Perry,  and  even  those  who  resented  him  had  to  admit  his 
authority.  There  had  never  been  a  man  milliner  in  Lon- 
don to  take  the  place  that  the  first  Worth  had  held  in 
Paris  in  the  sixties.  Mr.  Perry  was  fast  rising  to  that 
place. 

Vi  Farquharson,  realizing  the  position  quickly,  offered 
him  a  partnership  about  this  time.  He  had  brought  neither 

92 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

capital  nor  connection  to  the  business,  yet  it  was  the 
wisest  step  she  ever  took. 

He  had  no  time  to  recognize  a  human  being  in  his 
mannikins,  even  if  now,  or  ever,  the  girls  had  interested 
him.  Once  or  twice  he  had  corrected  or  mimicked  Miss 
Snape's  English,  and  the  error  made  under  those  circum- 
stances was  never  repeated.  And  once,  as  has  been  said, 
he  asked  if  she  was  happy  with  Elfrida ;  that  was  all  the 
intercourse  between  them. 

Yet  his  influence  was  paramount  with  her,  his  and  the 
clothes. 

Externally  Miss  Snape  was  developing  daily.  She  was 
becoming  a  devotee  to  her  body.  She  found  herself  look- 
ing in  her  glass  as  often  as  Miss  Baines.  She  kept  her 
hands  and  nails  scrupulously  clean,  and  devoted  one  hour 
in  the  evening,  however  tired  she  was,  to  brushing  her  hair. 
She  was  beginning  to  speak  quite  correctly,  and  she  bitterly 
resented  the  poverty  that  prevented  her  dressing,  out  of 
business  hours,  in  anything  but  the  poor  black  frock,  which, 
like  the  rest  of  her  toilette,  had  been  Ursula  Kugeley's 
present. 

Spiritually  she  was  not  growing  at  all.  All  the  week 
the  shop  held  her  entranced,  on  Sundays  its  influence  still 
held. 

She  asked  Elfrida  in  early  days  — 

"  Is  Mr.  Perry  married  ?  " 

"  Married  ?  Oh  Lord,  no !  Fancy  a  stick  like  him 
marrying ! " 

"Oh  !     I  suppose  him  and  Miss  Baines  ..." 

"Don't  you  believe  that.  I  suppose  some  of  the  girls 
have  been  talking.  I  thought,  at  first,  that  there  was  some- 
thing between  them.  Miss  Baines  is  married.  I  don't 
know  what  her  name  is  —  Jones,  I  think.  Her  husband 
used  to  call  for  her  every  night  of  her  life  when  we  were  all 

93 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

at  Pamela's.  He  is  manager  to  those  dry-cleaning  people  ; 
she  puts  a  lot  of  work  in  his  way.  They've  got  two  chil- 
dren, and  are  ever  so  devoted.  I've  met  them  at  the 
theatre  together  .  .  .  when  I  was  going  to  theatres."  She 
sighed. 

Sarah  had  heard  all  Elfrida's  short  history  by  now.  She 
had  had  "  a  friend."  He  wasn't  very  rich,  but  he  was  very 
liberal.  It  wasn't  his  fault  that  he  was  a  married  man, 
he'd  married  before  ever  he  met  her  ;  he  couldn't  help  that, 
could  he  ?  He'd  had  to  go  back  to  Egypt  with  his  regiment, 
or  she  wouldn't  be  here  now. 

Miss  Snape  heard  of  the  delights  of  their  days  together, 
of  dinners  and  suppers  at  the  Savoy,  of  trips  to  Brighton 
and  Margate,  of  a  dear  little  flat  near  Victoria.  But  long 
before  the  holidays,  Sarah  found  herself  practically  sole 
possessor  of  the  room  they  had  been  sharing  together. 
Elfrida  was  always  too  busy  to  walk  home  with  her  of  an 
evening;  she  was  very  smart  in  her  clothes  and  seemed 
restlessly  happy  and  excited. 

"Don't  you  let  on  in  Brook  Street  that  I'm  not  living 
here  altogether,"  she  told  Sarah.  "  It's  all  the  same  to  you, 
and  you  can  have  a  friend  in  if  you  like.  I  may  come  back, 
who  knows  ?  But  I  like  my  freedom." 

Her  manner  was  tentative;  she  seemed  to  expect  to  be 
asked  for  explanation,  but  Sarah  had  not  enough  interest 
to  be  curious. 

Sarah  used  her  freedom  to  see  her  old  friends.  Elfrida 
was  not  as  congenial  to  her  as  Mary  Murray,  although  per- 
haps she  learnt  more  from  her.  Sarah  scarcely  knew  what 
there  was  about  Elfrida  that  repelled  her.  None  of  her 
instincts  were  based  on  reason,  they  were  a  child's  in- 
stincts. 

This  was  the  time  Sarah  began  to  question  and  cross- 
question  Mary  Murray  as  to  her  relations  with  Alf ;  how 

94 


it  began,  how  she  knew  he  liked  her,  how  she  first  knew 
she  cared  for  him ;  also  about  the  life  they  were  planning, 
and  its  details.  She  grew  almost  as  familiar  with  those 
ideal  rooms  in  Dalston  as  Mary  and  Alf  were  themselves. 

After  one  of  those  conversations  she  used  to  wonder 
what  Mr.  Perry's  home  was  like,  where  he  lived,  and  who 
looked  after  him.  On  Sunday  afternoons,  those  hot  days 
when  Elfrida  gave  her  all  the  liberty  of  their  mutual  home, 
she  would  repair  to  Chepstow  Villas.  She  worked  hard 
at  her  education.  She  was  eager  now  to  acquire  French, 
having  mastered  reading  and  writing  up  to  a  certain 
standard,  and  definitely  rejected  arithmetic.  She  told  Miss 
Rugeley  she  thought  the  language  would  be  useful  to  her 
in  business,  there  were  one  or  two  French  girls  now  in  the 
show-room.  She  did  not  tell  Miss  Rugeley,  possibly  she 
did  not  know  herself,  that  she  wanted  to  understand  what 
Mr.  Perry  said  to  them. 

"  Do  you  know  you've  got  ten  days'  holiday  ? "  Miss 
Baines  asked  her  presently.  Miss  Baines  could  not  help 
feeling  a  certain  human  interest  in  the  people  around  her. 
And  Sarah  Snape  interested  her.  She  did  not  seem  to 
understand  much  more  than  when  she  first  came,  although 
she  did  all  that  was  required  of  her.  Of  course  she  im- 
agined herself  in  love  with  Mr.  Perry,  that  was  a  phase  all 
the  young  ladies  went  through.  But  what  she  did  with 
her  leisure  hours  now,  and  what  she  would  do  with  them 
in  the  future,  interested  Miss  Baines,  also  what  Elfrida  was 
teaching  her. 

"  She'd  be  better  if  she  woke  up  a  bit,"  Miss  Baines  told 
Mr.  Perry.  "  She  is  not  a  bit  like  the  other  girls." 

"  Oh,  she'll  come  all  right.  Wait  until  some  one  takes 
a  little  notice  of  her." 

"  She'd  like  you  to,"  said  Miss  Baines,  curiously. 

Mr.  Perry  never  did  take  any  notice  of  the  girls,  she 

95 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

had  never  detected  him  in  the  least  simulacrum  of  a  flir- 
tation. Their  own  relations  were,  and  always  had  been, 
purely  business,  and  her  own  boundless  admiration  and 
fealty  were  based  on  the  fact  that  she  was  intelligent  enough 
to  realize  his  genius.  It  was  genius,  unique.  She  was 
proud  to  follow  him,  gleaning  his  harvest ;  it  was  her  pro- 
fession to  understand  him,  and,  where  she  could,  to  help 
him. 

It  was  after  that  word  Miss  Baines  dropped  that  Mr. 
Perry  met  Sarah,  for  the  first  time,  outside  the  business 
atmosphere  of  Brook  Street.  Sarah  had  been  to  the  play 
with  Mary  and  Alf.  It  was  always  a  lament  with  Mary 
that  Sally  had  not  found  a  young  man  yet.  She  and  Mr. 
Peastone  promised  to  be  such  friends,  and  it  had  come  to 
nothing.  Johnny  Doone  wasn't  possible,  outside  the  East 
End ;  Luke  Cullen  had  at  last  been  turned  off  by  the  firm 
after  a  seance  at  Bow  Street. 

Alf  had  had  two  seats  for  the  upper  circle  given  him, 
and  Sarah  paid  for  her  own.  It  happened  that  they  — 
Madame  Violetta  &  Co.  —  had  "  dressed  "  the  leading  lady, 
and  one  of  the  minor  characters.  Sarah  wanted  to  see 
the  result.  She  was  becoming  daily  more  and  more 
absorbed  in  dress.  She  hardly  listened  to  the  play,  a  social 
comedy  that  dealt  with  manners  and  customs  to  which  she 
was  a  stranger.  She  saw  Mr.  Perry  in  the  stalls  —  his 
opera  hat  and  glasses,  his  satin-lined  coat  and  obviousness 
held  her.  She  thought  there  was  no  one  like  him  in  the 
house.  And,  notwithstanding  her  inexperience,  she  was 
probably  right ! 

It  was  in  the  hall  they  met.  It  was  a  wet  night,  and  the 
crowd  took  long  to  disperse.  Mr.  Perry's  brougham  had 
been  called,  and  called  again,  but  still  it  tarried.  Sarah 
called,  through  the  crowd,  she  was  "  all  right."  Alf  hurried 
Mary  away,  he  was  fearful  lest  she  should  catch  cold,  so 

96 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

solicitous  about  her  that  he  had  no  attention  to  spare  for 
her  friend.  And  Sarah  had  lingered,  unwilling  to  face  the 
rain,  perhaps  in  the  hope  Mr.  Perry  would  "notice"  her. 

Mr.  Perry  did  notice  her. 

"  You  here,  Miss  Snape  ? "  he  said.  "  That  wretched 
man  has  been  half  an  hour  finding  my  brougham.  What 
a  night ! "  Then  his  eye  scanned  her  professionally,  and 
very  keenly  Sally  felt  the  disadvantages  of  the  perennial 
black  merino.  She  was  aware  of  her  rising  colour,  her  eyes 
when  they  met  his  were  deprecating.  He  remembered 
what  Miss  Baines  told  him. 

"  You  should  get  yourself  an  evening  dress,  Miss  Snape," 
he  said.  "  Why  not  green  chiffon  ?  Chiffon  is  cheap  enough. 
You  could  run  it  up  at  home;  off  the  shoulders,  wide  in 
the  skirts.  Then,  if  you  had  your  hair  waved,  wide  at  the 
sides,  flat  in  the  middle,  and  perhaps  a  flower  under  the 
left  ear,  you'd  look  quite  different." 

She  saw  herself  in  the  costume  ;  her  heart  leapt. 

"  I've  been  in  the  upper  circle,"  she  protested  timidly. 

"  Alone  ?     Surely  not  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  I  had  two  friends  with  me.  They  —  he  —  wanted 
to  get  out  of  the  wet,"  she  explained  confusedly. 

Mentally,  of  course,  he  had  dressed  her  for  the  stalls. 
His  familiar  manner  was  only  part  of  his  general  contempt 
for  women.  There  was  nothing  personal  to  Sally  Snape  in 
it.  He  had  a  very  genuine  admiration  for  her  shape  and 
movements ;  he  was  really  the  first  person  to  see  her  pos- 
sibilities. 

"I'll  give  you  a  lift  home,"  he  said  condescendingly. 
"  You  can  drop  me  in  Sloane  Street,  and  then  my  man  can 
drive  you  to  Gower  Street,  isn't  it  ?  " 

She  actually  found  herself,  a  few  moments  later,  by  the 
side  of  the  great  Mr.  Perry,  rolling  along  the  streets  of 
London  in  his  rubber-tyred  brougham.  The  coachman 
H  97 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

wore  a  cockade,  the  livery  was  quiet.  Sarah  felt  acutely 
the  proximity  of  Mr.  Perry's  commanding  presence,  his 
satin-lined  coat.  Mr.  Perry  used  scent,  and  that,  too, 
fascinated  Sarah. 

"  It's  —  it's  very  good  of  you,"  was  all  she  said.  He 
thought  it  was,  for  he  was  bored  by  her,  and  her  clothes 
had  an  irritating  effect  upon  him.  What  was  the  use  of  such 
a  figure,  such  hair,  if  that  was  how  she  hid  them  ?  Black 
merino !  He  got  as  far  from  it  as  the  carriage  allowed. 

He  talked  a  little  of  the  dresses  they  had  made  for  the 
stage,  and  Sarah,  who  was  discovering  a  taste,  made  an 
observation  that  appealed  to  him  : 

"  She's  added  that  emerald  clasp  to  the  opera  cloak 
since  we  sent  it  home.  She  oughtn't  to  have  done  that, 
it's  too  heavy  for  it." 

"  Oh !  you  noticed  that  ?  "  Now  he  spoke  to  her  with 
something  like  interest. 

They  were  already  at  Sloane  Street.  He  hesitated 
before  he  got  out  of  the  brougham.  He  was  tempted  to 
make  the  girl  come  upstairs  with  him.  He  had  bought  some 
pieces  of  old  brocade,  and  was  almost  too  impatient  to 
wait  until  the  next  day  to  see  how  they  would  hang.  He 
would  have  liked  Sally  upstairs  for  an  hour,  her  bodice  off, 
trying  the  effect  of  the  lengths,  deciding  between  directoire 
and  empire  styles ;  his  mind  was  full  of  the  brocades,  but 
he  had  no  scheme  yet. 

"I  wish  you  could  come  in  with  me,"  he  said.  And 
his  voice  had  a  regretful  note.  She  felt  herself  growing 
very  red  in  the  obscurity  of  the  brougham. 

"  But  I  suppose  I  mustn't  ask  it,"  he  added  impatiently. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  she  said  again. 

"  Not  at  all.  Well,  be  early  on  Monday.  Two  hundred 
and  forty-seven,  Gower  Street,  James.  Think  over  that 
evening  dress.  Good  night." 

98 


CHAPTER  VI 

FOR  many  days  and  many  nights  Sally  thought  of 
little  but  that  evening  dress,  and  how  to  obtain  it. 
It  seemed  the  one,  the  only  way  to  attract  and  hold  Mr. 
Perry's  attention.  She  would  have  so  liked  to  see  his 
house,  where  and  how  he  lived.  He  had  thought  of  asking 
her,  hesitated  about  it,  and  the  black  merino  had  made 
it  impossible !  She  had  seen  his  expression  when  his  eyes 
fell  upon  it,  she  had  learnt  to  read  his  expression. 

Sixteen  shillings  a  week  was  all  they  gave  her  upon  which 
to  live,  the  difficulties  of  saving  sufficient  for  the  chiffon 
gown  were  insuperable.  Elfrida  was  again  at  home,  rather 
melancholy  and  down  on  her  luck. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  for  your  holiday?"  she 
asked  Sally.  "I  feel  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  me. 
It's  a  hateful  world.  You  look  peaky  too.  What's  wrong 
with  you  ?  You're  still  in  high  favour,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  some  new  clothes,  I  wish  I  had  a 
little  more  money." 

"  Hullo,  that  is  a  new  note,  isn't  it  ?  I  thought  you 
were  so  happy,  so  content,  in  trying  on  other  people's 
things."  Elfrida  was  bitter  and  satirical.  "I've  never 
been  satisfied  nor  content.  I  hate  work,  and  I  hate 
poverty.  Why  should  Mrs.  Carter  have  that  beautiful 
plumed  toque  to  go  on  her  hideous  artificial  wig,  over 
her  bulbous  nose,  whilst  I,  young  and  pretty,  have  only 
got  the  fun  of  seeing  what  an  owl  she  looks  in  it !  You've 
had  every  one  of  those  trousseau  things  of  Lilla  Mosenstein's 
on  you ;  she'll  be  as  fat  as  her  mother  in  no  time  —  I  know 

99 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

these  Jewesses  —  and  then  see  how  she  will  look  in  an 
embroidered  biscuit  zouave !  You  could  set  them  off." 

"  Biscuit  is  not  my  colour,"  broke  in  Sally. 

"  You've  got  that  from  Mr.  Perry,"  she  said  contemp- 
tuously. "It's  all  rubbish;  any  colour  is  good  enough 
for  a  good-looking  girl.  But  that  is  just  it — we've  got 
no  chance,  you  and  I.  I'm  sick  of  it  all." 

There  was  certainly  something  in  what  Elfrida  said. 
Sally  was  young,  she  did  not  know  whether  she  was  pretty 
or  plain,  but  she  knew  she  could  look  nice  if  only  she  got 
a  chance.  From  nine  until  eight  she  was  at  the  shop ; 
sometimes  she  stayed  even  later,  to  help  in  hanging  up,  or 
folding  away  clothes,  in  leaving  things  tidy.  Sally  was 
always  ready  to  work,  she  had  never  been  an  idler.  All 
the  girls  liked  her,  she  was  industrious  and  never  spiteful ; 
she  was  silent,  because  she  was  still  uncertain  of  her  speech, 
but  she  was  learning,  always  learning. 

Mr.  Perry  went  away  in  July,  before  the  sale  was  over. 
It  was  dull  work  then  in  Brook  Street,  monotonous,  weary 
work,  all  the  savour  gone  out  of  it. 

What  was  she  to  do  with  her  ten  days'  holiday  ?  Mary 
and  Alf  were  going  to  have  a  week  at  Eastbourne ;  Mr. 
Peastone  might  be  there,  Mary  told  her  slyly.  Surely  she 
must  have  got  over  her  silly  prejudice  against  Mr.  Peastone 
by  now.  The  accident  was  none  of  his  fault.  And  if  it 
were,  he  had  done  all  he  could.  He  had  been  to  see  her 
in  the  hospital,  and  had  taken  her  flowers. 

"  He  told  Alf  my  friend  was  very  hard-hearted,  but  he 
didn't  mind  that  so  long  as  she  was  very  red-headed !  He 
is  always  full  of  his  jokes,  real  good  company,  I  call  him. 
Come  down  to  Eastbourne  along  with  us,  and  make  it  up 
with  him.  There's  no  saying  what  might  happen.  After 
all,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him  you  wouldn't  be  where  you 
are  now." 

100 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

That  was  certainly  an  argument.  But  when  Sally  thought 
of  Mr.  Peastone  she  could  not  forgive  him  all  she  had  suf- 
fered. The  degradation  of  her  helplessness,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  the  things  that  were  done  for  and  to  her,  during  the 
first  days  in  hospital,  hurt  her  modesty  past  forgetting  or 
forgiving.  The  ineradicable  quality  of  her  childishness  put 
the  responsibility  upon  him.  She  had  trusted  him,  she 
who,  before  that  day  in  Epping,  had  only  trusted  herself. 
No !  she  hated  Mr.  Peastone,  and  told  Mary  so.  She  would 
not  go  holiday -making  in  his  company. 

In  the  end  she  went  to  Brighton  with  Elfrida. 

"  I  can't  go  alone,"  Elfrida  said ;  "  you  might  as  well 
come  along.  There's  no  saying  what  might  happen;  you 
never  know  yer  luck,  as  the  saying  is.  We  may  pick  up 
something  to  amuse  us." 

The  class  of  adventure  for  which  Miss  Elfrida  Carthew 
was  on  the  look-out  had  no  appeal  for  Sally  Snape. 

They  went  down  together  in  a  third-class  carriage,  and 
they  took  a  bedroom  in  a  back  street.  Then,  the  very  first 
day,  Elfrida  put  on  all  her  best  clothes  and  told  Sally  to  do 
the  same.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  they  would  go  on 
the  Parade. 

Sally's  best  clothes  were  a  poor  affair :  a  white  tulle  bow 
was  added  to  the  black  merino  dress,  two  gardenias  —  which 
had  not  cost  a  guinea  each,  by  the  way  —  tied  up  with  black 
velvet,  trimmed  her  new  crinoline  hat.  However,  she 
made  a  good  contrast  to  her  companion.  It  was,  and  it  re- 
mained, a  mystery  to  Sally,  how  Elfrida  contrived  to  have 
such  very  smart  dresses  in  spite  of  her  limited  income.  To- 
day she  was  in  a  tight  tailor-made  blue  cloth,  and  her  toque 
was  all  of  violets.  These  sat  well  on  the  fluffy  gold  of  her 
elaborate  hair.  She  had  added  a  little  rouge  to  her  cheeks, 
but,  when  Sally  admired  her  colour,  she  failed  to  explain 
how  it  was  achieved. 

101 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Elfrida  secretly  thought  Sally's  pallor  unattractive,  and 
her  appearance  dowdy.  She  thought  it  would  look  as  if 
Sally  were  her  companion  or  sheep-dog  if  they  went  on  the 
Parade  together,  and  Elf  rida's  superficial  study  of  men  made 
her  think  they  liked  best  what  was  difficult  to  obtain. 
With  Sally  she  felt  as  if  she  were  going  out  "  chaperoned." 
That  Sally  was  half  a  foot  taller,  with  the  loveliest  figure 
in  the  world,  while  the  colour  of  her  hair  was  finer  and  more 
attractive  than  the  finest  clothes  man  had  ever  devised, 
never  entered  Elfrida  Carthew's  silly  little  head. 

Therefore,  when  every  idle  man  turned  round  to  look  at 
the  pair,  Elfrida  adopted  an  air  of  conscious  unconscious- 
ness, and  began  to  prattle  gaily  : 

"  Don't  look  round,  but  did  you  see  that  fellow  who  looked 
at  me  ?  He  was  a  friend  of  my  boy's,  Captain  Gordon.  He 
recognized  me  right  enough,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he 
stopped  and  spoke  next  time  we  passed.  The  girl  he's  got 
with  him  is  Minnie  Mason,  she  used  to  be  at  the  Grecian. 
That's  Lord  Kidderminster,  '  Kiddie '  they  call  him.  You 
see,  it's  off  season  here,  so  they  can  bring  any  one  they 
like." 

Sally  had  recognized  Lord  Kidderminster,  and,  stranger 
still,  Lord  Kidderminster  had  recognized  Sally.  That  is  to 
say,  he  knew  her  face  was  familiar  to  him,  and  involuntarily 
raised  his  hat,  although  he  could  not  recollect  where  he  had 
seen  her  before.  He  searched  his  theatre-memory  in  vain  as 
he  strolled  past. 

"Fancy  his  bowing  to  me,"  giggled  Elfrida.  "Impu- 
dence, I  call  it.  Harry  Gordon  pointed  him  out  to  me  one 
night  at  the  Carlton  ;  I've  never  even  been  introduced. 
Let's  turn  the  other  way  and  pass  him  again.  I'll  give  him 
a  good  stare,  pretend  I  don't  know  who  he  is,  and  then  sud- 
denly remember  and  bow.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  we 
had  a  good  time  here  after  all;  there  is  nowhere  like 

102 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Brighton  for  meeting  your  pals.  P'raps  he  motored  down. 
Hullo  !  there  is  Joe  Aarons." 

She  nodded  and  smiled  at  the  theatrical  agent,  then  ad- 
vanced toward  him  as  if  she  was  sure  of  welcome. 

But  Mr.  Joseph  Aarons  was  not  in  business  to-day,  he 
was  holiday -making.  He  gave  her  a  nod  and  a  "  how  do," 
but  he  made  no  attempt  to  stop. 

"  Spiteful  thing  !  He  thinks  I  want  an  engagement  out 
of  him." 

It  was  obvious  that  Elfrida  was  cut  to  the  quick  by  Joe 
Aarons'  careless  greeting. 

"  An  engagement  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  didn't  you  know  I  was  on  the  stage  once,  in  the 
chorus  at  Roma's  ?  Harry  arranged  it  for  me ;  he  knew 
Joe  Aarons  well.  It  suited  Harry  that  I  should  have  some- 
thing to  do ;  you  know  he  had  to  be  at  home  sometimes. 
I  liked  it  well  enough,  a  pound  a  week  and  iny  clothes,  it 
might  have  led  to  something  better.  Then  Harry  went 
away,  and  I  got  ill  ...  my  place  was  filled  up.  I  tried  to 
see  the  manager,  but  there  are  always  crowds  of  girls  hang- 
ing round,  waiting  for  an  engagement.  It's  no  good  with- 
out influence.  I  tried  until  I'd  spent  all  my  money.  You 
saw  how  off-hand  he  was.  He  wasn't  like  that  when  Harry 
gave  him  a  champagne  lunch  at  Prince's,  and  me  in  a  stylish 
frock  from  Jay's,  and  ..." 

But  Joe  Aarons'  off-handedness  was  apparently  but  a 
momentary  matter.  He  was  standing  before  them  now  with 
both  hands  outstretched. 

"  Well,  now,  to  be  sure  —  Miss  Carthew,  isn't  it  ?  And 
how  is  Miss  Carthew  ?  Very  well,  if  it's  as  well  as  she's 
looking.  The  sea  suits  you." 

He  was"  more  than  friendly,  he  was  quite  enthusiastic. 
His  quick  professional  eye  had  spotted  Sally  the  very 
moment  she  had  passed  him.  Elfrida  was  another  thing. 

103 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

There  were  scores  of  girls  like  Elfrida  Carthew,  and  they 
all  wanted  engagements.  He  wasn't  down  here  on  business. 
If  Elfrida  had  had  eyes  for  anybody  but  herself  she  would 
have  noticed  that  he  had  been  walking  with  Mrs.  Aarons 
and  four  little  olive  branches,  the  boys  in  Eton  suits,  the 
girls  with  flowing  curls  and  feathered  hats.  This  was  their 
annual  outing. 

But  Miss  Carthew's  friend  was  a  remarkable-looking 
young  woman.  Mrs.  Aarons  was  in  delicate  health ;  her 
attentive  husband  thought  she  had  been  out  long  enough. 
When  he  had  seen  her  safely  across  the  road  —  Mr.  Aarons 
as  husband  and  father  was  a  totally  different  person  from 
that  gentleman  during  office  hours  —  he  startled  and  gratified 
Elfrida  by  the  warmth  of  his  greeting. 

Soon  it  transpired  that  he  had  no  idea  she  had  been  ill ; 
he  had  missed  her  at  Roma's,  and  concluded  she  had  gone 
out  with  Captain  Gordon  to  Cairo. 

"  So  you  let  him  go  alone  ?  Well  !  I  never ;  he  was  a 
nice  boy,  but  there  are  plenty  more,  my  dear,  plenty  more. 
You  must  come  back,  to  the  Verandah,  eh  ?  Who's  your 
friend?" 

Elfrida  introduced  Sally. 

"Miss  Snape,  Mr.  Aarons." 

They  were  standing  on  the  wide  white  flags  of  that  part 
of  the  Parade  which  separates  the  grass  from  the  gravel 
paths.  The  sun  was  dancing  on  the  distant  sea,  and  the 
roll  and  plash  of  the  waves  had  begun  to  speak  to  Sally,  to 
speak  to  her  so  loudly  that  they  drowned  the  vulgar  voices 
and  speech  of  the  two  beside  her.  She  smiled  her  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  introduction,  and  then  turned  away. 

"  God,  what  grinders !  "  Aarons  had  said  to  himself  as 
he  went  on  exchanging  chaff  and  theatrical  small-talk  with 
Sally's  golden-haired  companion.  And  the  same  thought, 
perhaps  differently  expressed,  was  in  Lord  Kidderminster's 

104 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

mind  as  he  sauntered  past  the  little  group.  He  looked  hard 
at  Sally ;  he  couldn't  "  place  "  her,  but  he  knew  he  had  met 
her  somewhere.  Judging  from  her  companion,  he  guessed 
it  must  have  been  in  some  theatrical  under-world.  It  was 
strange,  if  that  were  the  case,  that  she  cast  no  glance  in  his 
direction.  Kiddie  was  not  used  to  being  ignored  by  young 
ladies  in  any  world. 

But  Sally  had  not  seen  him.  She  had  heard  of  the  sea, 
and  dreamed  of  it ;  now  the  big  moving  panorama  of  it  was 
before  her.  And  she  turned  her  whole  self  toward  the  new 
and  absorbing  immensity.  In  her  eyes  was  the  sparkle  of 
the  sun  on  the  waves,  while  the  sea-wind  flushed  her  cheeks 
and  rippled  the  red  gold  of  her  hair. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  fine ! "  The  exclamation  was  involuntary, 
so  was  the  sudden  turning  to  Elfrida  for  sympathy.  But 
it  was  not  Elfrida  who  understood  and  responded.  It  was 
the  Jew. 

"  Very  fine,  my  dear ;  a  very  fine  sea  this  morning.  Fond 
of  the  sea?" 

"  It's  the  first  time  I've  seen  it." 

"  The  .  .  .  the  first  time  you've  seen  it ! " 

Elfrida  was  annoyed.  Why  did  Sarah  give  herself  away 
like  that? 

"  The  first  time  she  has  been  at  Brighton,  she  means,"  she 
interrupted  hastily. 

"No!  I  mean  the  first  time  I've  seen  the  sea  at  all," 
Sally  persisted.  "  It's  just  wonderful.  .  .  ." 

Joe  Aarons  looked  at  her.  He  had  been  looking  at  her 
more  or  less  all  the  time.  But  now  the  colour  and  expres- 
sion on  her  face  arrested  him  completely. 

"Wonderful!  And  where  may  you  have  been  living,  if 
one  may  ask  ?  " 

"  In  the  East  End  most  of  the  time  ;  we  never  took  jaunts 
like  other  people." 

105 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

She  was  carried  out  of  herself  and  all  her  traditions,  the 
exhilaration  of  the  ozone  was  upon  her.  She  turned  away 
from  him  again  as  she  was  speaking,  and  faced  that  immu- 
table moving  blue,  with  the  white  foam  on  the  crest  of  the 
high  waves. 

"  I  do  like  it !  "  she  said,  and  forgot  her  companions  again 
in  its  contemplation. 

"  Who  is  she,  my  dear  ?  Where  does  she  come  from  ?  " 
Joe  Aarons  asked  in  his  thick  voice,  moving  a  little  away 
from  her,  confidential  with  Elfrida.  , 

"  She  was  in  a  factory  somewhere  in  the  East  End.  One 
of  our  customers  —  I  am  at  Madame  Violetta's  now,  you 
know,  that  place  in  Brook  Street  —  one  of  our  swell  cus- 
tomers ran  over  her,  and  got  Violetta  to  take  her  as  a  sort  of 
compensation.  She  is  a  queer  girl,  she  doesn't  know  any- 
thing about  life.  You  should  see  her  eyes  when  I  talk  to 
her  sometimes." 

"  It  isn't  her  eyes,"  said  Joe  Aarons  incautiously,  "  it's 
her  figure  and  her  teeth." 

"  You  don't  think  her  good-looking,  surely  ? "  Elfrida 
cried,  jealously.  "  A  red-haired  maypole !  " 

"  No,  not  to  say  good-looking,"  he  corrected  tactfully, 
"  but  interesting  certainly  interestin'.  Where  are  you  two 
stopping  ?  " 

Elfrida  gave  the  address. 

"  And  what  may  you  be  doing  with  yourselves  to- 
night?" 

When  she  admitted  that  they  had  no  particular  engage- 
ment that  night,  he  asked  them  both  to  dine  with  him  at 
the  Majestic. 

"  It  will  be  like  old  times,  when  I  supped,  with  you  and 
Harry  Gordon.  We  must  see  if  we  can't  fix  you  up  with 
something.  It's  a  pity  to  waste  a  girl  like  you  in  a  hat 
shop." 

106 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

And  in  that  Elfrida  agreed  with  him. 

When  Joe  Aarons  gave  a  party  he  did  the  thing  in 
style. 

The  girls  arrived  at  the  hotel  at  eight  o'clock  that 
evening,  according  to  arrangement,  and  found  Mr.  Aarons 
planted  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fireplace  in  the  hall, 
very  prominent,  very  self-important,  already  with  his  guests 
about  him.  The  company  consisted  not  only,  as  they 
had  anticipated,  of  themselves  and  Joe  Aarons,  but  also 
of  Miss  Minnie  Mason,  who  immediately  began  to  gush 
over  Elfrida,  Captain  Carstairs,  who  had  accompanied  her, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heseltine.  The  Heseltines  had  a  dis- 
tinguished position  in  connection  with  the  local  music-hall ; 
Elfrida  told  Sally  hurriedly  about  them  in  the  cloakroom. 

Fortunately  Elfrida  and  Sally  were  dressed  for  the  occa- 
sion. That  is  to  say,  Elfrida  was  in  a  somewhat  stained 
but  very  elaborate  confection  of  red  silk  and  lace,  and  she 
had  generously  urged  upon  Sally  a  somewhat  scanty  and 
out-of-date  white  blouse.  With  a  rose  at  the  waist,  and 
another  in  her  hair,  the  inevitable  black  merino  and  white 
blouse  became  evening  costume.  Very  striking  Sally  looked. 
She  had  not  been  three  months  under  Mr.  Perry  for  nothing. 
Both  roses  were  exactly  in  the  right  place,  the  only  place. 
The  natural  wave  of  her  hair,  which  was  parted  in  the 
middle  and  coiled  low,  outshone  the  hairdresser's  art  that 
gave  Dot  Heseltine  and  Minnie  Mason  the  charm  of  wax- 
work dummies. 

From  the  very  beginning  things  went  well.  Minnie  and 
Elfrida  were  delighted  to  meet  each  other  again,  and  had 
a  thousand  confidences  to  exchange.  Dot  Heseltine,  who 
was  a  middle-aged  monstrosity  of  some  fourteen  stone,  a 
marvel  of  amiability  and  experience,  liked  nothing  better 
than  to  enlighten  the  ignorance  of  young  girls.  Captain 
Carstairs  revelled  in  inferior  company,  where,  as  he  put  it, 

107 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

'•'  no  one  put  on  frills,"  and  a  man  could  do  as  he  liked. 
Tom  Heseltine  loved  to  eat  and  drink  at  another's  expense  ; 
and,  as  for  their  host,  Joe  Aarons,  he  felt,  instinctively, 
"  right  to  the  bottom  of  his  boots,"  as  he  expressed  it,  that 
this  new  girl  was  "  good  business." 

Joe  Aarons,  as  a  "theatrical  agent,"  had  an  extensive 
connection  with  the  halls.  He  was  a  fat  little  Jew,  who 
wore  a  diamond  ring  on  his  stumpy  finger,  another  diamond 
blazed  in  the  middle  of  his  white  shirt ;  he  had  black  eyes, 
a  bald  head,  a  hooked  nose,  and  hospitality  was  ingrained  in 
him. 

"  Make  yourselves  at  home,  that's  what  I  want,  sit  where 
you  like.  No,  no,  not  on  my  lap,"  he  began  facetiously, 
when  they  moved  into  the  table  d'hote  room.  "I  know 
what  you're  after,  Mrs.  Heseltine,  but  Tom  and  me  has  been 
friends  too  long.  Here,  my  dear,  you  sit  by  me,"  he  said  to 
Sally,  "  and,  if  Tom  takes  the  other  side,  he  can  have  one 
eye  on  the  missus  and  the  other  on  the  gal/  as  the  saying 
is.  Now,  don't  you  think,  Miss  Carthew,  I've  forgotten  a 
young  man  for  you ;  Cis  Whigham  is  coming  in,  but  he  said 
he  should  be  late.  He's  doing  a  turn  at  a  private  party  in 
Preston  Park.  It  was  a  fifteen-pound  touch,  so  he  couldn't 
well  give  it  up.  .  .  .  Hullo !  there  you  are  at  last !  "  The 
comedian  was  already  at  the  door.  "  Come  in.  You  re- 
member Miss  Carthew  ?  Well,  perhaps  you're  right,  if  you 
never  knew  her,  you  couldn't  well  remember  her.  But  you 
won't  forget  her  in  a  hurry,  I'll  bet  that.  Now  then,  waiter, 
look  alive ;  open  those  bottles,  pass  the  wine  round,  let 
some  one  else  do  the  kickshaws." 

Sally  Snape,  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  her  host,  silent 
and  bewildered,  lost  herself  in  trying  to  follow  the  bril- 
liancy of  this  gay  party.  For,  as  the  wine  unloosed  their 
slack  tongues,  everybody  began  to  talk  at  once.  There 
were  jokes  she  could  not  follow,  allusions  she  could  not 

108 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

understand,  a  general  camaraderie,  and  familiarity  to  which 
she  had  no  clue.  Cis  Whighara  whistled  for  the  waiter 
when  he  wanted  anything,  and  gave  his  orders  in  voices 
imitative  of  Irving,  Tree,  and  Charlie  Hawtrey.  Every  one 
in  the  room  turned  round  to  look  at  the  party ;  Joe  Aarons' 
table  was  certainly  the  centre  of  attraction. 

Lord  Kidderminster,  solitary  at  his  corner  table,  thought 
they  were  making  rather  too  much  noise.  He  knew  Joe 
well  enough,  and,  of  course,  everybody  knew  the  Hesel- 
tines  and  Cis  Whigham.  But  still  he  could  not  place  that 
quiet  red-headed  girl  who  sat  at  Joe's  right  hand ;  and 
this  worried  him.  He  prided  himself  on  his  memory 
for  girls.  He  would  have  gone  up  to  speak  to  Joe,  and 
thus  set  his  mind  at  rest,  but,  as  the  dinner  went  on,  the 
party  grew  a  little  too  noisy  and  conspicuous.  If  it  had 
not  been  the  dead  season,  and  the  hotel  comparatively 
empty,  the  management  might  have  interfered.  But,  as 
things  were,  the  few  visitors  enjoyed  the  free  entertainment. 

Joe  Aarons  could  not  make  Sally  talk;  he  had  a  pro- 
fessional capacity  for  drawing  people  out,  but  here  he 
met  with  a  failure.  She  was  unlike  the  type  he  knew, 
the  gay  or  bashful,  impudent  or  pseudo-modest,  coryphees 
who  pursued  him  with  cajolery  or  pleading  in  all  his  busi- 
ness hours.  Also  she  had  none  of  the  pride  of  the  "  stars  " 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal  sometimes.  But  she  had  liked 
the  sea!  He  tried  to  talk  sentiment  to  her  when  the 
wine  had  warmed  him.  But  there,  too,  he  was  little  more 
successful. 

"  A  pretty  girl  like  you  didn't  ought  to  be  alone  down 
here,"  he  began. 

"  Miss  Carthew  came  with  me.  We've  only  been  here 
since  yesterday.  I  don't  feel  a  bit  lonely." 

"  I  bet  you've  never  been  lonely  in  your  life,  eh  ?  " 

Sally  never  had,  until  she  had  been  by  the  sea  Ever 

109 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

since  this  morning  she  had  felt  lonely  and  small  and  in- 
significant. She  was  giddy  with  her  mingled  emotions, 
tongue-tied  and  inexpressive  in  this  novel  atmosphere. 
She  knew  nothing  of  what  they  were  talking.  It  was  her 
first  party,  her  first  taste  of  social  life ;  her  ignorance 
descended  like  a  mist  upon  her,  and  dimly,  as  if  at  a  great 
distance,  the  lights  and  the  talk,  the  food  and  the  gaiety, 
reached  her  understanding. 

"  You  are  all  so  clever,"  she  said  pathetically  to  Joe.  "  I 
want  to  listen,  not  to  talk." 

"You  and  me  must  have  a  turn  one  day  quiet.  What 
do  you  say  to  a  drive,  now  ?  But  don't  you  talk  if  you 
haven't  a  mind  to.  I  see  it's  all  new  to  you." 

He  patted  her  knee  soothingly  with  his  podgy  hand, 
and  plied  her  with  wine.  Later  on,  when  the  hilarity 
grew  a  little  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  table  d'hote  room, 
the  manager  offered  them  the  use  of  a  sitting-room  with 
a  piano  in  it.  There  were  two  or  three  gentlemen  staying 
in  the  hotel  who  would  like  to  join  their  party,  he  said. 

"  Let  'em  all  come,"  said  the  genial  Joe.  And  there  was 
more  wine  brought  in,  and  singing,  and,  after  that,  dancing. 
Joe  Aarons  put  his  arm  round  silent  Sally  and  said  — 

"  Come  along,  Miss  Snape,  jou  have  a  round  with  me." 
But  she  answered  she  couldn't  dance,  and  didn't  want  to 
dance ;  she  wanted  to  be  left  alone.  It  was  all  growing 
stranger  and  stranger,  and  her  head  ached. 

"  Oh  !  now  don't  be  unsociable,  give  us  a  dance." 

She  was  surrounded.  If  she  would  not  dance  with  Joe, 
would  she  dance  with  Cis,  or  with  Mr.  Blount  here,  or 
with  Captain  Carstairs  ?  No,  she  wouldn't  dance  with 
none  of  them.  Sulky  Sally  of  the  gutter  came  back,  and 
her  speech  with  it.  Mrs.  Heseltine  was  playing  a  lively 
tune  on  the  piano,  and  Cis  careered  around  by  himself  in 
solemn  mockery  whilst  they  were  entreating  her. 

no 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"I  won't  dance  with  none  of  yer.  .  .  ."  But  suddenly 
bhe  wine  and  the  music  met  within  her. 

"  I'll  dance  by  myself,"  she  said.  "  Get  along  now,  give 
me  room." 

It  was  a  new  Sally,  or  an  old  one  revived.  She  gathered 
up  the  skirt  of  that  old  merino ;  the  blue  rep  petticoat  be- 
neath was  quite  short,  the  black  stockings  and  neat  shoes 
showed  the  slenderest  of  ankles. 

"  Give  us  a  reel,"  she  cried  out  to  Dot,  as  if  the  great  Mrs. 
Heseltine  had  been  an  organ-grinder.  And  Dot  actually 
struck  up  a  lively  tune  as  she  was  bid  ;  she  fell  easily  into 
the  spirit  of  it,  so  did  Cis,  so  presently  did  many  of  the 
others.  It  was  a  gay,  spirited  Scotch  reel  she  played.  Cis 
was  not  only  a  humorist  on  the  stage ;  he  cried  "  hech !  " 
and  crooked  his  elbow,  and  "  hech ! "  and  raised  his  leg. 
He  was  a  veritable  Scotsman  at  his  national  dance.  Soon 
Sally  was  dancing  with  him,  right  well  and  in  time,  with 
her  black  merino  drawn  high  over  her  short  petticoat.  Face 
to  face  with  him  she  danced  her  steps,  linkmg  arms  with 
him,  then  back  to  back.  Perhaps  they  were  not  all  quite 
sober,  perhaps  she  herself  had  drunk  a  little  more  than  her 
head  could  stand.  But  there  was  nothing  ungraceful  or  im- 
modest in  her  movements,  they  were  full  of  music  and  poetry. 
Dot's  fingers  moved  quicker  and  quicker.  One  couple  after 
another  got  exhausted  and  flung  themselves  down.  Sally 
and  Cis  had  the  floor  to  themselves. 

After  that  dance,  restraint  became  a  thing  of  the 
past.  Sally  danced  again  and  again  —  waltzes,  polkas, 
galops. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  'em  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Dancin'  to  the  organ,"  she  said,  out  of  breath.  "  In  our 
court,  when  I  was  a  kid." 

"  And  to  think  of  you  trimmin'  hats ! "  he  ejaculated  ad- 
miringly. 

in 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

But  that  was  to  himself,  after  he  had  seen  Sally  dance 
the  cake-walk.  It  was  then  he  made  a  resolution. 

Joe  Aarons  was  always  the  man  to  act  warily  when  busi- 
ness was  on  the  tapis.  He  had  watched  Sally  dancing ;  it 
was  untutored  dancing,  and  tutoring  might  spoil  it. 

"  Think  she'd  be  any  use  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  Tom  Hesel- 
tine.  But  the  free  drinks  had  been  too  much  for  Tom. 

"  With  legs  like  that  she'd  be  of  use  to  any  one,"  he  said 
incoherently.  "  Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  " 

Joe  had  not  picked  her  up  yet.  As  he  put  it  to  himself,  he 
"  didn't  know  the  market."  For  when  at  length  the  party 
was  over,  and  he  and  Cis  walked  home  with  the  girls,  Sally 
had  grown  quite  silent  and  cold  again.  He  tried  to  put  his 
arm  round  her  waist,  and  she  pushed  him  away. 

"  Well !  you're  going  to  give  me  a  good  night  kiss,  any- 
way," he  pressed.  She  bolted  away  from  him  then  right 
along  Ship  Street  Gardens.  He  was  too  fat  to  toil  after  her. 
She  had  disappeared  into  the  obscurity  of  the  dingy  house 
of  the  dingy  side  street  by  the  time  Cis,  Elfrida,  and  Joe 
had  reached  the  door-step.  Elfrida  wanted  a  little  help; 
she  was  rather  hysterical,  talking,  laughing,  and  crying  at 
once.  She  had  had  a  splendid  evening.  Joe  Aarons  wouldn't 
forget  her  again,  her  hat-shop  days  were  over  ;  she  had  been 
through  bad  times,  but  they  were  all  over  now.  Cis  would 
be  a  friend  to  her,  Joe  would  be  a  friend  to  her,  Mr.  Blount 
said  he  would  be  a  friend  to  her  !  She  would  have  kissed 
everybody,  but  there  were  only  Cis  and  Joe  here,  so  she 
kissed  them.  It  was  only  after  a  good  many  "  my  dears," 
and  sympathetic  responses,  that  the  tired  men  were 
able  to  get  rid  of  her  at  last,  gently  pushing  her  through 
the  door,  Cis  going  with  her  as  far  as  the  chair  in  the 
hall. 

"You're  all  right  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I'm  all  ri'  now.     You're  a  good  pal." 

112 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Squiffy  ? "  said  Joe  to  Cis  when  they  got  into  the 
street  again. 

"Goin'  that  way,"  Cis  answered  gaily;  "poor  little 
girl!" 

"Regular  little  wrong  'un,"  Joe  said  contemptuously. 
"You  keep  out  of  that,  my  boy;  she  has  no  talent  and 
no  grit.  What  do  you  think  of  the  other  ?  " 

"Makes  me  think  of  Tuesdays.  My  governor  kept  a 
cook-shop  in  the  City  Eoad.  Tuesday  was  boiled  beef 
and  carrot  day.  I  seem  to  smell  'em  when  I  look  at 
her;  every  one  to  their  taste,  I  don't  cotton  to  red  hair, 
myself ! " 


113 


CHAPTER  VII 

IF  Sally  and  Elfrida  woke  each  with  a  headache  next 
morning,  it  was  no  reflection  upon  the  champagne  at 
the  Majestic.  Elfrida  may  have  had  a  little  more  than 
she  could  stand.  As  for  Sally,  it  was  neither  the  quantity 
nor  the  quality  that  had  affected  her,  it  was  the  novelty 
of  the  whole  experience. 

First  she  had  been  shy,  nervous,  inwardly  excited. 
Then  the  excitement  had  flamed  up ;  she  had  danced,  she 
had  talked  .  .  .  she  tried  to  remember  what  she  had  said. 

But  the  cool  of  the  evening  had  suddenly  calmed  and 
quieted  her  when  they  came  out  of  the  Majestic  in  the 
small  hours.  She  had  glanced  only  once  at  the  sea;  it 
heaved  under  the  silver  moon.  She  dared  not  look  at 
it  again,  but  the  consciousness  of  it  rilled  her,  and  she 
had  walked  silently  by  Joe  Aarons,  her  pulses  beating 
wildly.  What  a  life  it  must  be  out  there,  beyond.  Her 
heart  swelled  with  the  thought,  and  her  eyes  filled.  She 
had  had  some  slight  training  in  religion,  but  only  since 
she  had  seen  the  sea  had  the  dim  possibility  come  to  her 
that  there  might  be  a  God.  She  turned  her  eyes  away,  she 
was  not  fit  for  it. 

It  was  "  life  "  she  had  been  seeing  that  evening,  the  "  life  " 
of  which  Elfrida  often  spoke,  dilating  on  its  joys.  Elfrida 
had  tried  to  make  Sally  envious  of  it,  but  gaiety  is  not 
the  natural  note  of  the  English  poor.  Sally  had  listened 
with  unheeding  ears.  But  now  she  knew  that  she  had  been 
in  the  very  midst  of  this  gay  life,  and  that  she  had  become 

114 


THE    HEART   OF    A   CHILD 

intoxicated  with  it.  People  had  wanted  to  talk  to  her, 
had  seen  no  difference  between  her  and  themselves.  Not 
her  clothes,  the  things  she  said,  nor  the  paucity  of  her 
knowledge,  had  been  against  her.  Mr.  Aarons  had  been 
kind,  all  through  the  dinner  and  all  through  the  evening 
he  had  been  kind.  She  had  run  away  when  he  had  wanted 
to  kiss  her  "good  night."  She  was  always  like  that,  she 
hated  to  be  touched.  But  the  most  vivid  of  her  memories 
about  him  this  morning  was  that  he  had  told  her  she  was 
fit  for  better  things  than  serving  in  a  hat  shop,  that  she 
ought  to  wear  fine  clothes,  and  jewellery,  that  she  had  only 
to  be  properly  seen  to  be  admired. 

Lying  in  bed  with  her  head  aching,  and  all  the  memories 
of  the  day  and  the  evening  confusing  her  thoughts,  she 
wondered  what  Mr.  Perry  would  say  if  he  knew,  what  he 
would  have  thought  if  he  had  seen  her  dancing,  and  how  he 
would  have  liked  her  in  Elfrida's  white  blouse.  Presently 
she  began  to  cry.  She  would  have  to  put  on  that  hateful 
black  merino  again.  And  if  she  wore  the  hat  with  the 
gardenias  to-day  there  would  be  nothing  different  for 
Sundays.  What  was  the  good  of  working  and  working, 
and  then,  in  your  ten  days'  holiday,  having  nothing  to  wear  ? 
She  wished  she'd  never  come  to  Brighton. 

But  the  morning  was  not  very  long  spent,  the  girls 
had  already  almost  recovered  themselves,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  two  large  cups  of  tea  and  a  plate  of  bread  and 
butter,  when  a  letter  arrived  from  Mr.  Aarons,  and  changed 
the  face  of  the  day.  He  had  hired  a  brake,  and  was  going 
to  drive  over  to  Eastbourne  at  once.  Would  the  young 
ladies  join?  They  were  all  going  to  lunch  at  the  Ocean 
Hotel. 

"Oh,  Elfrida,"  pleaded  Sally,  "lend  me  something  to 
wear,  anything  so  that  they  don't  see  me  again  in  my  black 
merino.  You  know  I'd  do  the  same  for  you." 

"5 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Good  heavens!  I  haven't  got  a  rag  to  my  back. 
You're  welcome  to  anything  of  mine,  but  I'd  as  soon  wear 
your  black  merino  as  anything.  You  should  have  seen  me 
when  I  was  with  Harry.  He  gave  twenty  pounds  for  a 
serge  dress  for  me.  And  I'd  silks  for  evenings,  and  a  pink 
opera  coat.  ..." 

"  I  wish  I'd  got  a  friend  like  that." 

Elfrida  gave  her  a  look,  and  a  short  laugh.  Elfrida 
knew  well  enough  that  Sally  had  not  crossed  the  t's  nor 
dotted  the  i's  of  the  half-confidences  that  had  been  given 
her.  Sally,  of  the  slums,  knew  vice  and  virtue,  the  line  of 
demarcation  between  the  two  had  been  sharply  denned  in 
Angel  Court.  But  she  knew  nothing  of  expediency.  The 
higher  she  mounted  the  fainter  that  line  of  demarcation  was 
to  grow,  but  nothing  had  blurred  it  as  yet.  She  went 
through  Elf  rida's  wardrobe  with  her.  It  had  all  come  down 
in  one  box,  and  Mr.  Perry  might  have  cast  every  single 
garment  contemptuously  aside,  but  to  Sally  it  was  very 
enviable. 

Elfrida  had  expressed  herself  as  willing  to  lend  Sally 
anything  or  everything  she  wanted.  But,  as  garment 
after  garment  was  taken  out,  held  up,  and  discussed,  it 
seemed  that  there  were  limitations  to  her  generosity. 
That  dark  blue  serge,  for  instance,  she  thought  of  wearing 
herself.  The  dress  with  the  gilt  buttons  was  the  very  iden- 
tical dress  Harry  had  given  twenty  pounds  for;  she 
did  not  think  she  could  bear  to  see  it  on  any  one  else. 
The  red  serge  skirt,  yes,  Sally  could  have  her  red  serge,  and 
a  muslin  blouse ;  she  had  another  muslin  blouse  somewhere. 
But  Sally  could  not  forget  Mr.  Perry's  teaching.  She 
acquired  with  difficulty,  but  she  seldom  forgot.  He  had 
told  her  never  to  wear  red.  He  would  not  even  allow  her 
to  try  on  anything  that  had  red  in  it,  not  a  ribbon  nor  a 
feather  nor  a  rose. 

116 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Pink,  child,  you  might  wear;  a  certain  shade  of  pink 
goes  quite  well  with  red  hair,  but  red  .  .  .  oh,  dear,  take 
it  away,  Miss  Baines." 

His  words  came  back  to  her  when  Elfrida  made  her 
generous  offer,  and  she  shook  her  head  sadly. 

In  the  end  she  put  on  her  Sunday  things,  tulle  bow, 
crinoline  hat,  and  gardenias.  And  when  the  girls  walked 
to  the  Majestic  according  to  instructions,  to  join  the  coach, 
it  was  the  slim  figure  in  black  merino,  and  not  the  fair  and 
fluffy  Elfrida,  in  the  light  blue  cotton  that  had  proved  her 
final  choice,  who  had  the  glances  and  approval  of  the  men 
lounging  in  the  portico  of  that  vulgar  hostelry,  waiting  to 
see  Joe  Aarons'  party  go  out. 

Lord  Kidderminster's  motor  was  in  attendance  to  take 
him  back  to  town.  Already  the  chauffeur  had  set  the 
engine  in  motion,  and  it  was  piff-piffing  its  noise  and  smell. 
But  Kiddie  himself,  a  rose  in  his  light  coat,  a  cigarette 
between  his  lips,  was  among  the  loungers  in  the  portico. 

"  You  wait  here,  and  I'll  go  in  and  see  if  they  are  ready," 
said  Elfrida. 

Sally  was  alone,  and  standing  by  his  side. 

"  You  don't  remember  me  ?  "  said  Kiddie,  in  a  low  voice, 
without  raising  his  hat,  though  he  couldn't,  for  the  life  of 
him,  remember  where  he  had  seen  her.  But  he  thought, 
considering  the  party  to  which  she  was  attached,  there  was 
no  harm  in  trying  to  find  out. 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  do,  my  lord,"  she  answered,  flushing 
suddenly  at  being  spoken  to  by  him.  "  Indeed,  indeed  I 
do.  And  how  good  you  were."  She  was  quite  earnest,  she 
could  not  bear  the  imputation  of  ingratitude  that  she  read 
into  his  words. 

Kiddie  felt  an  odd  little  thrill  of  emotion.  Had  he  been 
good  to  this  pretty  girl  ?  Very  pretty  Sally  looked  in  the 
sunlight,  with  the  flush  his  words  evoked,  showing  sweet 

117 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

pink  under  the  transparent  pallor.  Her  eyes,  raised  to  him, 
were  darker  than  usual,  and  full  of  feeling : 

"  I  owe  it  all  to  you.  .  .  ." 

She  was  so  full  of  it  all,  this  new  strange  life  of  hers,  the 
great  width  and  space  of  it  about  her,  the  breaking  of  the 
waves  on  the  stones  in  the  distance,  the  drive  she  was 
going  to  have,  the  kindness  of  everybody.  ...  "I  could 
never  forget,"  she  said  earnestly  —  "  never ! " 

All  the  idlers  on  the  portico  were  looking  at  these  two ; 
and  Lord  Kidderminster  was  embarrassed. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  a  lot  kinder,"  was  what  he  said.  But  the 
tone  belied  the  words,  for  it  was  not  flippant.  He  had 
meant  to  be  flippant,  and  not  very  respectful,  but  neither 
his  voice  nor  manner  met  the  words. 

"Would  you?"  she  said  wonderingly,  her  aquamarine 
eyes  meeting  his  inquiringly.  Of  course,  there  had  flashed 
into  her  mind  Elfrida's  friend,  and  the  fine  clothes  he  had 
given  her.  She  wanted  fine  clothes,  oh,  so  badly,  so  very 
badly.  What  other  kindness  could  any  one  show  her  ? 

At  that  moment  Joe  Aarons  appeared  in  a  very  loose 
driving  coat,  and  very  yellow  gloves.  His  bald  head  was 
hidden  under  a  sporting  bowler,  worn  very  rakishly.  His 
body-guard  looked  more  theatrical  here  than  they  would 
have  done  on  any  stage.  There  were  women  with  dyed 
hair,  loud  voices,  and  light  clothes ;  men,  mean-looking 
and  raddled,  with  the  appearance  of  members  of  cock  and 
hen  clubs,  their  ties  and  gloves  and  socks,  flamboyant, 
and  incongruous  with  their  dissipated  eyes,  and  weak-kneed 
walk. 

Joe  was  very  loud  and  very  hearty. 

"  Here  she  is,  here's  Miss  Snape.  Mornin',  your  lordship. 
Comin'  our  way?  We're  off  to  Eastbourne  for  a  trip. 
Nice  day." 

Lord  Kidderminster  was  in  two  moods,  half  a  dozen 

118 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

moods,  in  fact.  Joe  would  introduce  him,  if  he  wanted  an 
introduction.  Joe  would  tell  him  where  she  had  been  "  on," 
if  she  had  been  on.  He  could  not  detach  her  from  the 
frame  in  which  she  was  set.  But  something  about  her  eyes 
made  an  appeal  to  him  that  strangled  speech.  Her  won- 
derful smile  acknowledged  Joe's  greeting.  All  was  bustle 
and  confusion-.  Lord  Kidderminster  exchanged  no  further 
words  with  Sally.  He  saw  she  was  the  objective  of  Joe's 
most  overwhelming  attentions.  It  was  she  who  was  to 
have  the  front  seat  of  the  coach,  beside  the  host.  It  was 
for  her  a  rug  was  borrowed,  a  sunshade  opened.  Finally, 
with  a  flourish  from  the  horn,  and  a  feeble  whoop  and 
hooroo  from  the  passengers,  for  even  Cis  was  not  at  his 
gayest  so  early  in  the  morning,  the  horses  started.  Kiddie's 
last  sight  of  Sally  was  her  face  upturned  to  Joe's  just  as  it 
had  been  to  his  own.  He  pictured  the  iridescent  green  of 
her  eyes  seeking  Joe's  bulging  black  ones. 

Lord  Kidderminster  drove  back  to  town  at  the  rate  of 
forty  miles  an  hour,  and  was  stopped  twice  by  the  police. 
He  had,  therefore,  an  apparent  excuse  for  being  boorish 
and  irritable  that  evening.  It  was  his  last  night  in  town  ; 
to-morrow  he  was  going  home,  to  gladden  the  tired,  loving 
mother's-eyes  that  looked  out  of  the  plain  face  of  the 
Marchioness  of  Fortive. 

Sally  enjoyed  her  drive.  To  be  borne  behind  four 
horses  along  the  Parade,  with  the  distant  sea  tumbling 
dishevelled  white-topped  waves  over  and  over  for  her 
delectation,  now  in  sunlight,  now  in  shadow,  while  the 
wind,  warm  and  sea-laden,  lifted  her  hair,  and  flushed 
her  cheeks,  was  an  exhilaration  beyond  words  or  coherent 
thought.  She  was  glad  she  had  been  able  to  tell  Lord 
Kidderminster  how  grateful  she  was  to  him ;  they  were 
glad,  grateful  eyes  that  she  raised  also  to  Joe,  when  he 
asked  her  if  she  was  comfortable,  if  she  was  enjoying  herself. 

119 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

She  did  not  want  to  talk;  but  Joe  Aarons  could  never 
be  silent.  He  talked  to  her,  to  the  driver,  to  the  people 
behind.  He  had  the  air  of  possessing,  not  only  the  coach 
and  the  horses  and  the  driver,  but  the  sea  and  the  hills, 
and  coast-line,  even  the  sun  and  the  warm  wind.  He 
drew  attention  to  them  in  his  self-glorification : 

"Haven't  I  picked  out  a  fine  day  for  you?  What  do 
you  think  of  this,  boys,  eh  ?  This  is  the  sort  of  wind  I  go 
for,  just  enough  and  not  too  much.  And  not  a  glaring  sun, 
nor  one  that  takes  the  skin  off  yer  nose.  .  .  ." 

He  had  arranged  it  all,  he  was  the  impresario  of  the 
elements. 

Sally  was  not  proving  herself,  after  all,  as  congenial  a 
companion  as  he  had  hoped.  Her  cake-walk  last  night 
had,  so  far,  been  the  only  lively  thing  about  her.  He 
began  to  make  love  to  her.  It  was  rather  a  coarse  and 
unlovely  article,  this  love  that  he  suggested.  But  he  had 
always  found  it  acceptable.  He  was  out  for  a  day's  enjoy- 
ment, and  she  was  a  pretty  "  gal."  She  wanted  "  rousin'," 
that  was  all.  She  was  one  of  the  quiet  ones,  deeper, 
perhaps,  for  that. 

"  Well,  have  you  been  thinking  over  what  I  said  to  you 
last  night  ?  " 

She  turned  her  head  round,  and  the  light  of  the  sea  was 
in  her  eyes. 

"  What  you  said  last  night  ?  "  she  repeated  vaguely. 

"  About  the  hat-shop." 

"  You  thought  I  could  do  better." 

"  If  you  had  a  friend  to  back  you." 

She  flushed. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  friend."     She  was  thinking  of  Elfrida. 

"  So  you  have,  my  dear,  so  you  have."  He  put  his 
coarse  hand  on  her  knee,  under  the  rug.  And  her  flush 
deepened,  she  hated  to  be  touched.  "I'll  be  a  friend  to 

120 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

you,  my  dear,  you  and  me'll  be  much  better  friends. 
Perhaps  I  can't  do  as  much  for  you  as  some,  but  I  can 
give  you  a  start." 

"  You're  very  kind." 

"  I  like  being  kind  to  you."  He  gave  the  knee  a  pinch. 
Sally  pushed  his  hand  away ;  she  could  not  help  it,  she 
hated  it  there. 

"  You  mustn't  be  stand-offish  with  me,"  he  edged  closer 
to  her,  but  she  edged  away. 

"It's  awful  hot,"  she  said. 

"  Awfully.  Yes,  it's  awfully  hot.  Now,  if  we  were  alone, 
and  none  of  this  lot  behind,  you'd  give  me  a  kiss,  wouldn't 
you  ?  You  ran  away  last  night ;  but  you  like  me  better  in 
the  daytime,  eh  ?  " 

She  liked  him  well  enough,  but  she  hated  kissing,  and 
told  him  so  quite  simply.  Presently,  because  the  position, 
and  the  glory  of  the  day,  took  her  out  of  herself  a  little, 
she  became  more  confidential. 

"  I've  always  hated  it,"  she  confided  to  him.  "  Johnny 
Doone  was  the  first  who  wanted  to  kiss  me,  and  many  times 
I've  smacked  his  face  for  him.  I  like  Johnny,  but  I  didn't 
want  him  about  me.  And  then,  there  was  the  tailor 
where  I  worked.  His  wife  walked  into  him  about  it,  and 
into  me  too,  though  I  don't  see  how  I  was  to  have  helped 
it.  And  loafers  in  the  street,  and  Luke  Cullen,  and  every- 
body. I  can't  think  why  they  can't  leave  a  girl  alone.  I 
hate  such  ways.  Now,  Mr.  Perry,  he  .  .  .  do  you  know 
Mr.  Perry  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  I  do,  my  dear,"  said  Joe,  who  was  getting  a 
little  bewildered.  "  And  did  he  want  to  kiss  you  ?  " 

"No;  he  never  so  much  as  came  nigh  me,  except  in 
business." 

«  He  is  in  Brook  Street  ?     Foreman  there  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  partner ;  the  girls  say  so." 

121 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  And  he  is  the  only  man  you  have  ever  met  who  hasn't 
tried  to  kiss  you.  Well,  my  dear,  I  can't  help  it,  but  I 
think  he's  got  very  bad  taste." 

"  He  has  got  beautiful  taste,"  she  said  gravely.  "  If  he 
says  a  thing  is  right,  why,  it  is  right.  Colours  you'd 
never  think  would  go  together.  .  .  ." 

"  Does  he  want  to  marr}r  you  ?  " 

"  Marry  me  !  Me  marry  Mr.  Perry  ! "  The  flush  in  her 
cheek  was  scarlet  this  time.  "  No  more  than  if  I  was  the 
dirt  under  his  feet." 

"  Then  why  drag  him  in  ?  " 

She  didn't  know,  only  that  she  had  been  thinking  of  him, 
and  wishing  that  he  could  see  her  there,  driving  in  a  coach 
and  four.  And  she  kept  on  thinking  of  him  whilst  Joe 
Aarons  talked.  For  Joe  talked  of  dress  and  jewellery  and 
dinners  at  the  Carl  ton,  suppers  at  the  Savoy.  He  talked 
as  some  cheap  Mephistopheles  might  have  discoursed. 
They  were  neither  subtle,  nor  veiled,  these  temptations 
he  spread  before  her  eager  eyes  and  awakening  greed. 
Taken  altogether  it  amounted  to  something  like  this  : 

"  You're  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  the  world  belongs  to 
pretty  girls.  It  is  for  them  the  clothes  and  the  jewellery, 
the  dinners,  and  suppers  are  prepared.  A  man  don't  want 
things  for  himself,  or  by  himself;  he  wants  to  give  'em 
away,  he  wants  to  spend  his  money,  with  a  pretty  girl  to 
help  him.  I'm  not  a  very  young  man  myself,  I'm  forty, 
and  I've  got  a  missus,  and  kids  —  but  I've  got  an  eye  for  a 
pretty  girl.  You  can  get  almost  anything  you  like  out  of 
me.  I'm  as  weak  as  water  when  I  take  a  fancy.  How 
would  you  like  a  bracelet  now,  a  bangle  .  .  .  ?  " 

Sally  had  a  certain  sense  of  exhilarated  uneasiness. 
She  felt  as  a  child  feels  who  is  contemplating  mischief, 
wanting  the  fun  of  it,  guessing  there  was  a  possible  penalty 
attached,  but  putting  that  out  of  her  mind.  She  would 

122 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

evade  the  penalty.  One  could  always  get  out  of  things; 
she  could  take  care  of  herself,  she  had  always  been  able  to 
do  so. 

Of  course,  she  would  like  to  have  a  bracelet,  she  longed 
to  have  a  bracelet.  She  had  possessed  no  jewellery  ex- 
cept hairpins  and  combs.  She  gave  one-and-nine  each 
for  two  turquoise  hairpins,  and  four-and-eleven  for  the 
comb,  the  day  she  went  to  Epping.  But  Miss  Rugeley 
had  advised  her  not  to  wear  them  when  she  went  to  Brook 
Street.  So  she  had  given  them  to  the  maid  at  Miss  Kuge- 
ley's.  She  told  Joe  about  Ursula  and  the  dress  she  had 
given  her. 

"It's  the  one  I've  got  on,"  she  said  rather  plaintively, 
"  it's  the  only  one  I've  got." 

"You  shall  buy  yourself  another,"  Joe  promised  her. 
His  hand  was  on  her  knee  again,  and  he  was  closer  to  her 
than  she  liked.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  You  get  rid 
of  Carthew,  and  we'll  have  a  little  dinner  together  to- 
night, all  by  ourselves.  Then  we'll  talk  things  over,  and 
see  what's  to  be  done.  You  be  a  good  girl"  —  he  gave 
her  knee  another  pinch;  he  was  growing  more  amorous, 
and  the  feel  of  her  slender  shoulder,  shrinking  from  him, 
warmed  his  blood  — "  and  you  won't  find  Joe  Aarons 
mean.  I'm  not  free ;  I  wouldn't  like  the  missus  to  know 
of  any  goings-on.  But  you  trust  yourself  to  me,  and  I'll 
take  care  of  you.  You  want  a  friend,  and  I'll  be  a  good 
one  to  you." 

The  Ocean  at  Eastbourne  is  a  much  more  decorous  cara- 
vanserie  than  the  Majestic  at  Brighton.  A  heavy  and 
genteel  snobbishness  dominates  the  large,  ill-furnished  hall, 
with  its  uncomfortable  basket  chairs,  its  rickety  wicker 
tables.  Materfamilias,  in  cap  and  shawl,  sits  there  all 
day  long  with  her  fancy  work,  scenting  scandals,  sniffing 
the  air  for  them  hungrily.  Dull  fathers  of  duller  families 

123 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

lounge  restlessly,  waiting  for  the  "  Times,"  dreading  the 
inevitable  music.  A  few  provincial  old  maids  sit,  each 
with  her  separate  copy  of  Marie  Corelli's  latest  romance. 
Gauche  girls  in  tennis  costumes  track  gaucher  men  with 
tennis  rackets.  But  there  is  no  sound  of  gaiety  or  laughter; 
decorum  is  the  note,  the  whole  hall  dull  and  grey  with  the 
brooding  shadow  of  it. 

The  alighting  of  Joe  Aarons  and  his  party  produced  no 
apparent  stir  on  the  surface.  The  lunch  hour  was  just 
over,  and  the  weight  of  a  lethargic  digestion  chained  the 
stout  English  men  and  women  to  their  basket  chairs,  and 
their  saddle-back  chairs.  Gouty  men  with  sticks  raised 
rheumy  eyes  as  the  party  passed  through  the  hall ;  the  dyed 
heads  of  the  women  were  typical  to  them  of  all  they  had 
lost. 

The  scandal-loving  matrons  were  less  interested;  they 
felt  that  here  was  little  provender  for  them.  It  had  been 
nosed  over,  and  become  stale;  the  very  word  "theatrical" 
included  the  worst  they  would  say  or  suggest. 

Notwithstanding  the  mute  disapproval  of  the  occupants 
of  the  hall,  Joe  dominated  the  place  until  he  had  roused 
the  competent  hall-porter  into  disposing  of  him  suitably. 

The  ladies  were  led  to  take  off  their  wraps  in  the  big 
marble  cloak-room,  the  gentlemen  found  accommodation 
for  their  coats  and  rugs.  Luncheon  had  been  ordered  by 
telephone.  A  big  table  down  the  middle  of  the  res- 
taurant seated  them  all  comfortably.  The  head-waiter, 
a  tall  and  gentlemanly  person,  with  the  manners  of  the 
secretary  of  a  golf  club,  gave  personal  attention  to  their 
insistent  needs.  Three  or  four  German-Swiss  novices, 
with  napkins  over  their  arms,  blundered  about,  perspiring 
furiously,  and  trying  to  understand  what  was  said  to 
them. 

But  the  terrible  respectability  of  the  place  subdued  even 

124 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Cis  Whigham,  and  they  all  ate  and  drank  in  comparative 
silence.  The  cold  grip  of  it  was  still  upon  them  when 
they  had  finished.  They  tried  the  hall  for  smoking,  but 
already  there  were  the  scraping  of  violin  strings  and  the 
shuffling  of  chairs.  The  band  was  beginning,  and,  sipping 
their  extraordinary  coffee  to  the  sound,  the  Eastbourne 
visitors  strained  their  imaginations  to  consider  the  scene 
continental ! 

"  Oh,  Lord,  this  place  gives  me  the  hump,"  said  Cis. 
"  Get  us  out  of  it,  Joe,  there's  a  good  fellow.  You  ordered 
the  coach  back  at  six.  What  on  earth  are  we  going  to  do 
till  then?  I  can't  stand  these  cats,  or  that  caterwauling. 
Find  out  if  there's  anything  to  be  done." 

The  hall-porter  had  tact,  understanding,  sympathy.  The 
head- waiter  might  have  suggested  the  Devonshire  Park,  a 
walk  to  Beachy  Head,  the  band  on  the  esplanade.  But  the 
hall-porter's  judgment  was  unerring. 

"  There's  an  entertainment  on  the  pier,  sir.  A  London 
company,  very  good  I  hear  it  is,  very  good  indeed." 

"  Send  up  and  book  me  two  rows.  Say  it's  for  Joe 
Aarons,  Joe  Aarons  of  Maiden  Lane."  He  was  almost 
pompous  about  it ;  at  least  it  must  be  said  for  him  that  he 
was  proud  of  his  name  and  his  calling. 

Sally  Snape  found  herself  walking  down  the  Eastbourne 
Parade  with  yellow-haired  Elfrida  in  vivid  blue,  yellow- 
haired  Minnie  Mason  in  her  egregious  frock,  Dot  Heseltine, 
and  the  rest  of  the  bizarre  group. 

That  was  how  they  appeared  to  Mary  and  Alf  and  Mr. 
Peastone,  who  were  sitting  together  in  the  penny  seats  that 
edged  the  promenade,  feeling  ineffably  genteel.  They  had 
been  at  Eastbourne  three  days,  and  had  imbibed  already 
something  of  the  impeccable  virtue  and  stodgy  respecta- 
bility that  broods  under  the  terrible  statue  of  the  last  Duke 
of  Devonshire,  the  patron  saint  of  Eastbourne.  He  sits  in 

"5 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

his  stone  chair  at  the  bottom  of  Hartington  Place  and  gazes 
with  complacent  inherent  granite  stupidity  on  the  non-con- 
formist conscience  at  play. 

Mary  and  Alf  and  Mr.  Peastone  were  staying  at  a  board- 
ing house.  Alf's  sister  was  there  too,  and  she  shared  a 
room  with  Mary,  which  made  confidences  about  Alf  easy, 
and  reduced  the  price  to  twenty-five  shillings,  with  board. 
The  same  arrangement  held  good  with  Mr.  Peastone  and 
Alf.  In  the  evenings,  at  the  boarding  house,  there  was 
music,  sometimes  there  were  recitations,  and  on  Saturdays 
they  danced.  Charlie  Peastone  was  a  great  success  there ; 
he  danced,  he  sang,  he  told  stories,  he  chaffed  the  girls  and 
the  landlady,  always  decorously,  of  course.  Over  and  over 
again  Mary  and  Alf  discussed  what  a  lot  Sally  had  missed 
in  not  being  with  them.  Alf's  sister  could  not  be  said  to 
have  adequately  taken  Sally's  place  ;  for,  poor  girl,  she  had 
a  port  wine  mark  all  down  one  side  of  her  disfigured  face, 
and,  though  she  was  good  at  her  needle,  and  earned  her 
living  by  it,  her  misfortune  was  ever  present  with  her ;  and 
she  was  the  reverse  of  lively. 

"  But  Sally  and  him  would  have  suited,  she  wanted  rous- 
ing, and  there  never  was  such  company.  .  .  .  Lor !  if  that 
isn't  Sally  herself!" 

They  looked,  and  looked  again,  Alf  less  long  or  hard  than 
the  others,  because  he  never  could  keep  his  eyes  very  long 
from  his  fair  and  gentle  Mary.  Mary  said :  "  Well  I 
never  ! "  twice.  Charlie  Peastone  changed  colour,  and  was 
actually  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  told  them : 

"  That's  Minnie  Mason  with  her ;  she  is  at  the  Hilarity, 
doing  a  turn  with  song  and  breakdown : 

I'm  an  utter  girl,  a  splutter  girl, 

I'm  a  hoo-blooming-ray  and  gutter  girl. 

The  fat  woman  is  Dot  Heseltine,  it's  a  theatrical  lot." 

126 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  I  can't  think  what  Sally  is  doing  with  them." 
"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  said  Charlie,  with  a  faint  attempt 
at  hilarity,  trying  to  get  his  spirits  back. 

And  I'll  ask  you  to  believe 
That  I  carry  on  my  sleeve 
The  sign  of  a  broken  heart," 

he  sang  under  his  breath. 

"  It's  a  great  pity." 

"  And  pity  'tis,  'tis  true." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  after  her  ?  "  said  practical  Mary. 
"  Perhaps  she  don't  know  what  she's  doing.  It's  just  as 
like  as  not  she  don't  know  who  they  are.  It's  that  girl 
she  rooms  with.  I  never  did  think  much  of  her,  when 
Sally  talked  about  the  things  she  had,  the  clothes  and 
money.  Alf,  you  go  with  him,  go  up  and  speak  to  her. 
You  might  ask  her  to  tea." 

Alf  got  up  obediently,  but  Charlie  waved  him  back 
grandiloquently.  "  Alone  I  did  it,"  he  quoted,  and  started 
off  in  pursuit. 

Half-hearted  all  through  in  his  dealings  with  Sally 
Snape,  too  selfish  seriously  to  contemplate  matrimony 
with  a  factory  girl,  too  thin-blooded  to  dream  of  a  lighter 
connection,  he  had  yet  been  impressed  by  the  girl  as,  in 
his  shallow  jocund  life,  he  had  never  been  before.  No  one 
else  had  interested  him  since  he  met  Sally,  the  impudent 
barmaids  had  all  lost  their  savour.  He  posed  as  one  who 
had  had  a  disappointment.  He  made  a  great  deal  of 
Sally's  unforgiveableness  over  her  accident,  and  allowed 
Mary  and  Alf  to  condole  with  him.  But  it  was  only  now, 
when  he  saw  her,  in  what  seemed  to  him  a  dangerous 
surrounding  and  atmosphere,  that  she  gripped  him  as 
the  one  thing  desirable,  the  one  thing  necessary.  The 
blood  that  was  suffusing  his  face,  when  his  hurried  steps 

127 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

brought  him  up  beside  her,  came  from  the  heart;  it  was 
thick  and  hot,  the  first  human  pumping. 

"  Good  day,  Miss  Snape." 

Sally  turned  to  him  quickly,  anybody  was  preferable  to 
the  people  she  was  with  : 

"Oh!  are  Mary  and  Alf  with  you?  I  should  like  to 
see  Mary."  She  stopped  short,  and  detached  herself  from 
her  party. 

"Mary  is  just  two  minutes  away,  on  the  seat  beyond. 
If  I  might  be  honoured  by  being  your  escort  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  minute." 

Sally  ran  on,  breathlessly.  "  Elfrida,  Miss  Mason,  I'm 
not  coming  with  you.  Tell  Mr.  Aarons,  will  you,  that 
I've  met  some  old  friends,  and  I  don't  care  about  the  pier. 
I'll  meet  you  all  at  the  hotel  when  the  brake  starts." 

"  Old  friends ! "  said  Minnie,  and  winked.  Charlie 
caught  the  wink  and  returned  it,  as  he  stood  waiting  for 
Sally ;  he  didn't  mind  what  they  thought.  He  was  rather 
gratified  if  they  thought  it  was  for  him  she  was  giving  up 
the  pier  and  their  society. 

He  took  her  back  to  Mary,  and  Mary  kissed  her,  Alf 
shook  hands  with  her,  Charlie  made  humorous  speeches. 
They  asked  her  questions,  and,  without  waiting  for  the 
answers,  breathlessly  told  her  of  the  delights  of  Medina 
House  and  its  gaiety.  They  pitied  her  for  being  at 
Brighton  instead  of  Eastbourne.  They  introduced  her  to 
Alf's  sister,  and  Mary  said  she  was  sure  the  two  would 
be  friends,  because  they  were  both  in  the  same  business. 
But  as  Alf's  sister  made  dresses  for  servants,  at  four 
shillings  and  sixpence,  including  lining,  and  Sally  was  in 
Brook  Street  under  Mr.  Perry,  the  mutual  occupation 
proved  a  mere  blind  alley. 

Sally  had  been  glad  to  leave  her  party  for  a  little. 
Elfrida  and  Minnie  Mason  had  not  been  pleased  that  she 

128 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

should  have  the  box-seat  and  all  Mr.  Aarons'  attentions ; 
they  said  one  or  two  spiteful  things,  against  which  Sally 
had  no  defence.  Her  longing  for  pretty  clothes,  growing 
and  always  growing  since  she  had  been  in  Brook  Street, 
gnawed  and  ached  within  her,  like  hunger.  She  thought 
she  would  do  anything  to  be  prettily  dressed,  anything 
to  drive  away  the  memory  of  the  evening  when  Mr.  Perry's 
eyes  had  fallen  upon  her  black  merino,  and  he  had  not  asked 
her  to  come  up  to  his  rooms. 

She  thought  she  would  do  anything,  but  her  thoughts 
led  her  no  distance.  She  was  only  an  embodied  "Iwant"; 
she  had  no  thought  of  giving,  only  of  receiving.  A  great 
greed  was  fastening  upon  her.  Joe's  words  had  filled  her 
with  vague  hopes.  The  future  was  nebulous.  She  had 
no  spirit  for  Minnie  Mason  and  Elfrida  Carthew,  and  their 
little  spiteful  speeches  remained  unanswered.  But  she  had 
accelerated  heart-beats  and  inner  excitement.  She  was  glad 
to  leave  it  all  for  a  time,  all  this  prospect  and  change  that 
was  before  her,  and  go  back  to  Mary.  She  had  been  happy 
at  the  factory,  before  she  had  known  any  better.  And  the 
romance  of  Mary  and  Alfred  drew  her  unresistingly. 

She  and  Mary  had  a  long  talk  that  afternoon,  a  long, 
intimate  talk.  Mary  heard  all  about  Elfrida,  and  her 
clothes,  the  dance  at  the  Majestic,  and  Mr.  Aarons'  sugges- 
tions ;  she  made  no  hesitation  about  those  dotted  i's  and 
crossed  t's. 

"You're  not  one  to  go  wrong  willingly,  I  know,"  she 
said,  "  but  you  might  be  took  advantage  of.  I  don't  like 
that  set  you're  with,  and  Alf  don't  like  them.  Don't  you 
trust  yourself  alone  with  that  Mr.  Aarons."  For  Mary 
heard  about  the  promised  drive  and  bracelets.  "  He's  not 
meaning  anything  for  nothing,  you  mark  my  words." 

"  I  want  things  so,"  poor  Sally  said. 

"  Dresses  and  jewellery  and  things  ?  " 
K  129 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Everything,  everything  other  folks  has  got." 

"  I  can't  think  what's  come  to  you.  You  wasn't  like 
this  before  you  left  the  factory." 

"No." 

She  hung  her  head.  It  was  true,  she  had  been  happy 
and  contented  there.  It  was  circumstances  that  moved 
her,  not  the  reverse ;  she  was  ever  the  one  still  thing  in  the 
maelstrom,  turning  with  it,  not  struggling.  Mary  had  her 
inspiration : 

"  Come  back  to  us,"  she  said ;  "  you'll  be  happier  there, 
and  safer.  Is  there  no  chance  between  you  and  Mr. 
Peastone  ?  " 

"  It  always  seems  to  me  it  was  his  joking  broke  my  leg, 
and  gave  me  those  hours  and  hours  of  pain ;  I  thought 
that  all  the  time,  I  can't  get  over  it." 

"  It's  very  wrong,  I'm  sure  no  one  could  have  been  more 
sorry  than  him." 

"  And  the  doctors  pulling  it  about,  and  always  making 
it  worse,  putting  it  in  splints,  taking  'em  off  again,  making 
me  stand  on  it,  and  the  aching  and  shoots.  .  .  .  that  was 
all  him,"  said  Sally,  out  of  breath  and  pale  with  the  mere 
memory  of  her  physical  discomforts.  She  was  so  healthy, 
so  unused  to  pain  or  illness,  her  resentment  of  it  was  deep- 
seated,  past  argument. 

"  I  should  have  liked  you  to  be  happy,  like  me  and  Alf," 
Mary  said  wistfully. 

Her  own  happiness  had  been  like  food  and  drink  to 
her,  she  was  so  content  and  fed  and  satisfied  that 
she  wanted  to  diffuse  what  was  left,  to  feed  the  world. 
And  Sally  had  been  with  her  when  she  first  met  Alf, 
almost,  she  might  say,  she  owed  the  introduction  to  her. 
This  pale  little  clerk,  idealistic  and  anaemic,  carried  with 
him  a  great  gift.  His  interests  and  outlook  may  have 
been  narrow,  but  beneath  that  narrow  surface-chink  lay 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

a  broadening  depth  of  sympathy.  Mary  Murray  had 
bathed  in  it  and  become  whole.  It  was  there,  too,  for 
Sally.  Alf  talked  to  her  when  Mary  had  done  talking. 
It  wasn't  easy  to  be  pretty,  and  have  the  men  after  you, 
and  say  "  no  "  to  everything.  He  saw  all  the  temptations 
the  world  offered  her,  rich  gew-gaws  spread  before  her 
longing  eyes.  But  there  was  only  one  way  of  happiness ; 
to  keep  in  one's  own  station,  love  one  another,  and  be 
content  with  what  one  had. 

Sally  rejected,  and  could  not  but  reject,  the  creed.  She 
was  as  a  child  who  cannot  reason,  but  wants  and  always 
wants.  She  had  a  thousand  ungratified  desires,  and  all  of 
them  were  awake  and  gnawing  at  her.  She  saw  the  happi- 
ness and  content  of  Mary  and  Alfred  in  their  mutual 
love  and  mutual  admiration,  she  even  saw  the  charm 
of  the  prospective  semi-detached  villa  with  the  red  gera- 
niums. But,  if  she  had  had  all  that,  she  would  still  be 
athirst. 

Charlie  walked  back  with  her  to  the  Ocean  Hotel.  He 
didn't  exactly  want  to  tie  himself  down ;  and,  unlike  Alfred 
Stevens,  he  had  nothing  saved.  He  spent  his  salary  as 
soon  as  he  got  it,  or  before,  much  of  it  on  ties  and  waistcoats, 
cheap  jewellery  and  dissipation. 

"  You  ought  to  come  over  here  for  a  bit.  I  don't  care  about 
Brighton  myself,  it's  overdone,  no  style  about  it.  It  used 
to  be  all  right,  but  it's  gone  down,  while  Eastbourne 
has  gone  up.  You  know  the  ticket  —  one  down,  t'other 
come  up.  I  say,  Miss  Snape,  you  might  give  a  fellow  a 
bit  of  encouragement.  You  know  I  really  am  gone  on 
you." 

"  What's  the  good  ?  " 

"What's  the  good?  I  like  that.  What's  the  good  of 
anything,  if  it  comes  to  that  ?  You're  not  a  girl  to  be  with- 
out a  chap  to  take  her  out.  Now,  why  shouldn't  I  be  that 

131 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

chap  ?  I'm  not  vain,  but  I  think  I  know  the  ropes.  I've 
learnt  a  thing  or  two  about  life.  I  can  get  tickets  for  half 
the  theatres  in  London.  You're  the  sort  of  girl  a  fellow 
likes  to  be  seen  about  with." 

There  was  nothing  of  guile  about  Sally,  now,  or  at  any 
time.  She  did  not  dislike  Charlie  Peastone  as  much  this 
afternoon  as  she  had  done  whilst  in  the  hospital.  And,  of 
course,  she  knew  that  most  girls  go  out  with  some  fellow 
or  another.  She  liked  the  theatre,  and  any  time  she  might 
meet  Mr.  Perry  there  again. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  like  always  going  out  with  the 
same  fellow,"  she  objected. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  there  was  not  a  trace  of 
coquetry  about  her ;  she  looked  very  young,  and  surprisingly 
fair  in  the  red  light  of  the  setting  sun. 

"  If  we  was  to  be  engaged  ?  "  he  said  slowly.  It  was  a 
big  step  to  take,  "walking  out"  was  not  like  being  engaged. 
He  knew  the  fickleness  of  his  own  affections,  and,  ever 
haunted  by  a  possible  breach  of  promise  case,  had  been  care- 
ful hitherto  in  making  his  proposals  merely  tentative.  Sally 
was  different.  All  he  knew,  or  was  ever  to  know,  of  life's 
best  possibilities  throbbed  in  him  now.  It  was  unselfish- 
ness, his  first  gleam  of  it.  He  would  actually  tie  himself 
up  to  please  her. 

"  I  suppose  a  man  must  settle  down  sometime."  He  was 
twenty-four.  "If  what  you're  thinking  of  is  that  you've 
heard  I've  gone  the  pace  a  bit,  been  with  one  girl  one  Sun- 
day, and  another  the  next,  you  needn't  think  of  that  any 
more."  He  put  his  arm  into  hers.  "  Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 
She  walked  a  few  paces  with  him,  trying  to  think. 
Then  his  mere  proximity  irritated  her,  and  her  face 
flamed : 

"I  can't  abide  men,  and  that's  the  fact,"  she  broke 
out,  shoving  his  arm  away,  moving  quickly.  "  Mary  likes 

132 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Alf  dawdling  about  her,  looking  at  her.  I  couldn't  be  like 
that  with  any  fellow.  I  am  as  fond  of  my  freedom  as 
you." 

"  I'd  give  it  up  for  you/' 

"I  wouldn't;  that's  flat.  Let's  cross  over;  isn't  that 
the  brake  ?  Yes,  I'm  sure  it  is ;  don't  come  any  further. 
I  can  get  across  by  myself,  and  —  and  —  good-bye." 

"  Not  so  fast." 

He  seized  her  arm  again.  Her  hair  had  caught  the  sun- 
set, and  he  was  all  entangled  in  it.  "  I  can't  let  you  go. 
I'll  be  anything  you  like.  You  shall  be  as  free  as  free. 
But  tell  rne  when  I  can  see  you  again.  I  must  see  you. 
I  don't  believe  I  can  get  on  without  you.  Now,  Sally,  don't 
be  hard.  I'm  in  earnest  at  last;  you're  the  only  girl  in 
the  world  for  me.  Say  you'll  have  me." 

"  They're  all  waiting  for  me."  She  could  see  them  mount- 
ing on  the  brake,  she  wanted  to  get  away  from  Charlie,  she 
had  not  an  atom  of  feeling  for  him. 

"  Say  you'll  see  me  again." 

"  I'll  think  about  it  when  I  get  to  London." 

"  The  very  first  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Oh,  let  me  go,  Mr.  Peastone." 

"  Not  until  you  promise." 

"  All  right  then,  the  first  Sunday." 

"  You  do  rather  like  me  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I've  got  to  walk  back  to  Brighton." 

"  They'll  wait  for  you.  Don't  let  me  go  like  this,  give 
me  a  kiss.  Say  you're  glad  we've  made  it  out  together." 

"  Anybody  can  see  us.     Do  let  me  go." 

"  Just  one." 

She  wanted  to  get  away;  she  bent  her  head,  and  let 
him  touch  her  cheek.  It  was  cool  and  sweet.  He  was 
outside  himself,  and  momentarily  felt  the  humility  of  a 
lover. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  I'm  uot  good  enough  for  you." 

The  phrase  recurred  to  her  when  again  she  was  beside 
Joe  Aarons  on  the  box-seat  of  the  four-in-hand.  She  took 
what  grown-up  people  say  literally,  as  children  do.  After 
Joe's  speeches  of  the  morning,  which  came  back  to  her 
now,  she  thought  it  was  quite  true,  Charlie  Peastone  was 
not  good  enough  for  her.  His  wages  couldn't  be  more  than 
Alf's,  and  Alf's  were  not  enough  to  allow  him  to  marry 
Mary.  And  Mary  wanted  so  little ;  she  was  satisfied  with 
her  cotton  frock,  with  nothing. 

"  A  nice  little  dinner,  my  dear,"  Joe's  voice,  which  had 
been  going  all  the  time,  now  reached  her  inner  ear.  "  Just 
our  two  selves,  and  we'll  talk  things  over.  A  little  flat, 
perhaps ;  it  might  run  some  day  to  a  little  flat  in  Victoria, 
there's  no  knowing.  Joe  Aarons  is  not  the  man  to  let 
you  down.  We'll  see  about  what  you  can  do ;  a  girl  likes  a 
bit  of  independence.  You  haven't  got  bitten  with  it  yet, 
but  it's  the  boards,  my  dear,  the  boards  you  belong  to. 
Have  you  ever  tried  to  sing?  You'd  dance,  you  know, 
you'd  dance  all  right  if  you  was  taught.  I'll  get  you 
taught." 

She  had  that  prospect,  together  with  the  booming  sea, 
grey  now,  and  chill.  The  red  had  gone  out  of  the  sky,  and 
that,  too,  was  grey.  She  did  not  find  Joe's  proximity  so 
bad  now  that  it  was  dusky,  and  she  was  chilly.  She  did 
not  resent  his  warm  podgy  hand  holding  hers,  nor  his  arm, 
and  the  rug,  going  round  her.  But  there  was  no  appeal  in 
the  small  flat  in  Victoria,  nor  in  the  prospect  of  getting  a 
chance  of  appearing  on  the  music-hall  stage. 

When  she  got  home  she  told  Elfrida  that  Mr.  Aarons 
wanted  her  to  dine  with  him  at  the  Nicola  restaurant. 

"  Fancy  Joe  Aarons,  old  Joe  Aarons  ! "  Elfrida  wondered, 
more  than  once.  "  Why,  he  could  have  almost  any  one  he 
wanted.  He's  got  a  lot  of  influence,  not  only  at  the  halls, 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

but  in  touring  companies,  and  even  in  the  chorus ;  there's 
no  knowin'  what  he  might  do  for  you.  But  it  isn't  like 
him.  .  .  ." 

"  You  come  along,  too." 

"  Not  me.    I  don't  go  where  I'm  not  wanted." 


135 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BUT  the  " little  dinner  "  never  came  off. 
The  Joe  Aarons  of  Maida  Vale,  who  was  temporarily 
installed,  with  his  family,  in  a  furnished  house  in  Regency 
Square,  Brighton,  was  quite  a  different  man  from  the  one 
that  appeared  in  Maiden  Lane,  or  amongst  the  coryphees 
and  chorus  girls  out  of  whom  he  made  his  living.  Sally 
Snape  would  take  clothes  and  jewellery  from  him,  he  had  no 
doubt.  No  one  had  a  meaner  opinion  of  "  theatre  women," 
as  he  called  them  generically,  than  Joe  Aarons.  If,  now 
and  again,  he  took  slight  advantage  of  the  privileges  his 
position  afforded,  that,  too,  was  all  in  the  way  of  business. 
It  was  impossible  to  have  been  engaged  for  twenty-five 
years  in  supplying  the  music-hall,  and  sometimes  the 
musical-comedy  stage,  with  the  particular  article  each  re- 
quired, without  becoming  something  of  an  expert  in  the 
line.  And,  like  the  majority  of  his  race-brethren,  Joe 
Aarons'  intelligence  and  knowledge  of  his  business  were 
above  the  average.  Therefore,  he  had  recognized  quickly 
that  Sally  Snape  was  rare  of  make,  and  of  most  attractive 
colouring,  and,  whether  she  had  talent  or  not,  was  obviously 
fitted  to  shine  in  the  profession  to  which  he  was  an  acknow- 
ledged intermediary.  The  exact  nature  of  the  profession  he 
regarded  synthetically  rather  than  analytically;  but  con- 
ventional morality  was  not  in  the  list  of  its  qualifications. 

Sally's   figure   had   struck  him  on  the  Parade.     Elfrida 
Garthew  he  had  passed  with  perfunctory  nod  and  glance. 

136 


but  her  companion  dwelt  in  his  mind  ;  hence  all  that  had 
followed.  Then  her  dancing,  although  untutored,  had  a 
certain  quality  of  grace,  of  spontaneity.  Joe  Aarons  had 
even  noted  Lord  Kidderminster's  short  colloquy  on  the 
steps  of  the  Majestic. 

"  She's  got  it,"  was  the  sum  of  his  thoughts  concerning 
her.  And  how  best  to  exploit  that  particular  "  it "  for  the 
benefit  of  himself,  and,  incidentally,  of  Mrs.  Aarons  and 
the  four  olive  branches,  had  been  uppermost  in  his  mind 
even  on  that  amorous  and  adventurous  coaching  journey. 
There  was  not  a  touch  of  Don  Juan  in  Joe  Aarons ;  pretty 
girls  were  his  stock-in-trade,  that  was  all,  and  he  was  not 
more  particular  than  most  speculative  tradesmen  as  to  how 
he  replenished  his  stock. 

Had  the  "  little  dinner  "  come  off,  Sally  would  have  had 
her  vanity  very  much  flattered,  and  she  might  have  been 
persuaded  to  try  her  voice  in  a  song,  or  exhibit  her  possibili- 
ties in  a  dance ;  she  would  have  been  promised  a  bracelet 
or  a  flat,  and  might  even  have  been  given  the  money  for  a 
dress.  But  she  would  have  had  no  real  difficulty  in  pro- 
tecting her  virtue.  She  would  have  had  far  more  difficulty 
in  protecting  her  future  income.  "  A  little  agreement,  my 
dear,"  was  Joe's  most  adventurous  offer,  with  a  small  sum 
of  money  on  account,  and  love-making  thrown  in  if  the 
occasion  required  it,  or  in  order  to  clinch  a  bargain. 

For  Joe  Aarons,  also  like  the  majority  of  his  brethren, 
was,  out  of  business  hours,  the  best  of  husbands,  fathers, 
citizens.  Therefore,  when  he  arrived  at  his  temporary 
Brighton  home  after  that  jaunt  to  Eastbourne,  and  was  met 
by  young  Abe  at  the  door,  with  a  scared  face  all  blubbered 
with  tears,  telling  him  : 

"  Mother's  ill ;  we've  been  looking  and  looking  for  you  — 
oh !  father,  she's  very  ill ! "  all  thought  of  Sally  was  ban- 
ished from  his  mind  as  if  she  had  never  existed. 

137 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

Now,  one  saw  Joe  at  his  very  best.  The  shock  turned 
him  green  in  the  face,  and  sick  in  the  heart,  for  his  Miriam 
was  the  centre  of  his  life.  Yet  he  could  find  a  word  of 
comfort  for  the  child : 

"  It's  all  right,  old  man,  come  up  along  with  me,  and  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

He  threw  an  arm  about  the  boy,  and  the  other  chil- 
dren, when  Abe  had  broken  the  bad  news,  came  crying 
about  him.  It  was  easy  to  see  he  was  a  loving  father. 
"  Mother "  had  been  taken  ill  at  dinner-time ;  Rosie  saw 
her  turn  pale,  Sam  had  tried  to  get  on  her  lap,  but  she 
had  sent  him  running  for  nurse.  Nurse  had  helped  her 
out  of  the  room,  and  had  never  come  back.  It  was  at  this 
point  of  the  story  that  little  Rosie's  sobs  grew  uncontrol- 
lable, and  Joe  took  her  up  in  his  arms  and  hushed  her 
against  his  shoulder. 

Abe  had  done  all  he  could.  He  was  eleven  years  old, 
always  top  of  his  class,  the  great  pride  of  the  house  of 
Aarons.  He  had  been  clever  and  tactful;  he  had  sent 
Sammy  for  a  doctor,  kept  the  children  in  «rder,  and  watched 
for  father.  He  had  never  broken  down  at  all  until  a  mo- 
ment ago,  when  he  had  crept  upstairs,  listened  outside  the 
door,  and  heard  mother  moaning.  When  he  said  he  heard 
mother  moaning,  his  manliness  left  him  again,  and  they 
all  cried  together,  even  Joe,  though  he  was  already  re- 
assured. The  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks  into  Rosie's  black 
curls. 

"Now  you  all  wait  here  like  good  children,  while  I  go 
up  and  hear  all  about  it.  Sammy  will  cuddle  Rosie  and 
Maudie.  Come  along,  Abey,  this  isn't  like  you.  Why, 
you're  making  me  cry  now.  You  come  along  with  me,  and 
wait  on  the  landing  whilst  I  go  to  mother  and  see  what's 
wrong.  Then  I'll  bring  you  word,  and  you  can  tell  the 
others.  Where's  Jane  ?  " 

138 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  She's  upstairs  too,"  he  blubbered. 

It  was  a  very  limited  household.  A  nurse,  a  maid-of-all- 
work,  and  Mrs.  Aarons,  between  them  did  the  cooking,  the 
cleaning,  the  mending.  Business  expenses  were  high,  and 
the  future  of  the  children  was  always  in  the  parents'  minds. 
They  ate  and  drank  well,  dressed  themselves  and  their  chil- 
dren handsomely,  but  wasted  nothing  on  the  social  side  of 
life.  Mrs.  Aarons  had  no  thought  outside  Joe  and  the  chil- 
dren ;  she  liked  working  for  them.  She  was  the  centre  of 
the  household,  it  revolved  afround  her.  Joe  knew  it.  He 
met  so  many  light  women,  bad  women,  frivolous  women, 
that  his  Miriam  seemed  to  him  a  pearl  beyond  price.  She 
had  all  the  virtues,  and  her  pendulous  figure  and  redundant 
chin  counted  for  nothing  against  these. 

That  Mrs.  Aarons'  illness  was  of  an  interesting,  rather 
than  a  serious,  nature  was  immediately  obvious.  Mrs. 
Aarons  was  a  poor  arithmetician,  and  the  event  which  had 
been  happily  anticipated  for  October,  when  Abe  and  Sam 
would  have  returned  to  St.  Paul's,  and  the  little  girls  should 
have  been  occupied  with  their  nursery  governess,  had  material- 
ized in  August.  But  Joe  proved  his  quality  in  the  next  few 
hours.  He  was  tender  and  loving  to  the  patient : 

"You  just  think  of  yourself.  I'll  see  to  the  children. 
No,  they  won't  know  anything  about  it,  don't  you  fear,  don't 
you  fear.  Poor  girl !  Doctor  has  found  you  a  nurse,  and 
Jane  can  get  down  to  her  work.  Nurse  can  stay  with  you 
until  the  other  comes.  The  children  are  just  as  good  as 
gold  now  I've  told  'em  you're  not  really  ill,  only  the  dinner 
upset  you.  "We  put  it  down  to  the  Dutch  cucumber.  He's 
sharp,  Abe  is,  he  says  you  turned  pale  before  you  touched 
it !  But  it's  all  right ;  they  believe  what  I  tell  'em.  We'll 
say  the  doctor  brought  it.  Now,  God  bless  you,  old  girl,  I 
see  you'd  rather  be  alone.  I'll  be  about,  ready  if  I'm  wanted. 
I'm  sure  you've  got  a  boy  for  me ;  it's  another  boy  we  want." 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

He  kissed  her  before  he  went  back  to  the  children ;  he 
left  her  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  watching,  ready  to 
help,  taking  on  himself  the  burden  of  the  household.  What 
more  could  a  man  do  ?  Then  he  and  young  Abe  sat  together 
when  nurse  was  released  for  the  children,  and  the  podgy 
hand,  which  had  pinched  Sally's  knee,  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, was  locked  more  lovingly  in  young  Abe's  as  the  hours 
grew  anxious.  The  preternatural  cleverness  of  the  youngster 
culminated  in  an  inconceivable  sympathy.  "  She's  all 
right,  father,  I'm  sure  she's  all  right,"  he  urged. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  boy,  she's  all  right."  This  was  the  elo- 
quence that  bound  them  to  each  other.  But  it  was  morning 
before  the  new-born  cry  assured  their  speech. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Sally  and  the  dinner  were  forgotten. 

There  was  terrible  disappointment  for  Sally,  as  she  sat 
in  her  very  best  clothes,  which  were  in  reality  Elf  rida's  very 
worst,  waiting  for  Mr.  Aarons  and  the  new  life  he  was  to 
offer  her.  When  Joe's  note  came  to  her  telling  only  that  he 
was  detained  and  must  cancel  his  appointment,  she  and 
Elfrida  dined  at  Beech's  restaurant  at  one-and-sixpence  per 
head.  Afterwards  they  went  on  the  pier,  where  Elfrida 
found,  or  made,  acquaintances,  and  became  very  hilarious 
and  indiscreet.  And  Sally  looked  at  the  sea,  and  forgot  her 
disappointment.  It  filled  her  with  wonderment,  the  sound 
and  the  scent  of  it  swept  through  her  mind  and  heart. 
It  did  not  satisfy  that  strange  hunger,  that  strange  thirst, 
the  craving  "  I  want,"  but  it  soothed  the  hurt  of  it,  and 
hushed  her. 

She  had  another  letter  from  Joe  in  the  morning.  He  said 
his  wife  was  ill,  and  he  could  not  leave  her.  He  gave  Sally 
his  business  address,  and  asked  her  to  call  upon  him  there 
when  she  got  back  to  town. 

Since  the  theatre  repelled  rather  than  attracted  her,  it 
is  doubtful  whether  she  would  have  called  on  Joe,  but  for 

140 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Elfrida  and  circumstance.  The  new  circumstance  was  the 
continued  absence  of  Mr.  Perry  from  Brook  Street,  and  the 
consequent  tedium  and  deserted  air  of  the  whole  estab- 
lishment. Mr.  Perry,  so  the  story  went,  was  detained  in 
Paris  by  illness;  pneumonia  was  spoken  of.  Madame 
Violetta  failed  to  attract  or  keep  her  customers,  and  Miss 
Baines  wandered  aimlessly  about.  The  new  models  did 
not  arrive.  Every  day  and  always  the  same  story  was 
told  of  Mr.  Perry's  illness.  Every  day  and  always  came 
the  same  reply.  Mrs.  Mosenstein,  or  Lady  Plenterdrum, 
the  Duchess  of  Montlily,  or  Miss  Recamier;  mondaines, 
demi-mondaines,  judaeacracy,  all  would  wait  to  give  their 
orders  until  Mr.  Perry's  return.  They  one  and  all  implied, 
there  was  no  use  paying  Violetta's  prices  for  clothes  when 
there  was  no  Mr.  Perry  to  make  them  unique. 

Sally  had  little  or  nothing  to  do,  and  idleness  never 
suited  her. 

"I  don't  believe  that  story  of  Mr.  Perry's  illness," 
Elfrida  said,  "there  is  something  that  doesn't  ring  true 
about  it.  This  place  will  bust  up  if  he  don't  come  back. 
Mr.  Jones,  the  accountant,  was  looking  pretty  blue  yester- 
day when  I  saw  him  come  out  of  the  office  with  Madame. 
You  mark  my  words,  it  isn't  as  simple  as  it  sounds.  We 
haven't  taken  an  order  for  a  week,  and  it's  October, 
when  we  ought  to  be  pretty  busy.  Tell  you  what,  you 
ask  an  afternoon  off ;  they'll  have  no  excuse  for  saying  no, 
and  I'll  do  the  same.  We'll  look  up  Joe  Aarons ;  there  is 
no  use  waiting  till  you  are  out  of  a  berth  before  you  look 
for  another.  I'd  enough  of  that  before  I  came  here." 

"But  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  don't  'but';  of  course  there  are  always  'buts.' 
Mr.  Perry  may  come  back ;  this  show  may  buck  up  again. 
Joe  Aarons  may  have  forgotten  your  existence,  or  he  may 
have  remembered  it,  and  have  nothing  going.  I  know  all 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

that,"  she  said  impatiently.  Elfrida  was  always  impatient, 
uneven  in  spirits,  and  inclined  to  be  ill-tempered  when  her 
facile  affections  were  temporarily  unsought,  as  had  been 
the  case  since  their  return  from  Brighton. 

"  But  nothing  venture,  nothing  have.  So  I'm  for 
looking  up  old  Joe.  You  can  come  along  with  me,  or 
leave  it  alone." 

Elfrida  wanted  Sally  to  come;  she  was  clever  enough 
to  know  that  she  had  a  greater  chance  of  an  audience  in 
that  event.  And,  of  course,  Sally  was  persuadable. 

Maiden  Lane,  where  Joe  Aarons  had  his  office,  is  the 
entresol  to  three  worlds.  In  its  narrow,  characterless 
causeway,  busy  journalists,  familiar  with  the  shabby 
loafers  who  stand  in  self-imposed  idleness  at  the  doors  of 
the  garish  public-house,  hurry  past  with  no  eyes  for 
"copy."  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  a  few  poor 
ill-clad  worshippers,  women  with  the  suffering  of  life 
stamped  in  remorseless  lines  on  their  tired  faces,  humbly 
and  unnoticed,  pass  into  the  little  Catholic  Church,  so 
featureless  in  its  exterior,  so  full  of  peace  and  the 
beauty  of  quiet  in  its  shadowy  aisles  and  dimly  lit  altar. 
Here  is  a  restfulness  ignored  by  the  yellow-headed,  ill- 
kempt,  often  half-drunken,  men  and  women  who  are 
.seeking  their  chance  to  entertain  an  ever  more  critical 
and  exacting  public. 

The  two  girls  had  the  primary  difficulty  of  getting 
through  this  last  unhappy  group.  Then,  ascending  some 
dingy  stairs,  they  reached  the  outer  office,  where  other 
girls  were  waiting.  Here  their  progress  was  barred  by 
Isaac  Hyams,  an  interested  Cerberus,  who  demanded 
their  names  and  business,  also  whether  they  had  an 
appointment. 

Elfrida  wrote  her  name  on  a  piece  of  paper,  with  Sally's 
underneath  it.  And,  greatly  to  the  indignation  of  those 

142 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

who  had  been  waiting  since  the  morning,  put  off  from  time 
to  time  on  one  excuse  or  another,  the  magic  door  was  almost 
immediately  opened  to  the  new  arrivals. 

Joe's  office  was  not  unlike  the  dirty,  ill-furnished  outer 
room.  The  floor  was  bare,  and  there  was  a  Shannon  desk, 
with  numberless  pigeonholes  affixed  to  the  walls.  There 
was  a  piano  under  the  window,  with  a  fiddle  case  on  the  top 
of  it,  also  a  pile  of  music. 

Joe  seemed  to  have  grown  fatter  but  no  less  affectionate : 

"  So  here  you  are,  my  dear,"  he  began,  not  rising  from 
his  chair.  "  Not  lost  your  looks,  I  see,  either  of  you.  And 
how  are  things  in  Brook  Street  ?  Nobody  much  in  town 
yet?" 

They  had  come  at  a  good  time ;  the  old  favourites  were 
booked  until  Christmas,  and  there  was  room  for  something 
new.  Sally  looked  just  as  remarkable  here  as  she  had  at 
Brighton,  although  somewhat  paler.  Joe  had  not  forgotten 
her.  He  had  even  sought  her  out,  at  her  lodgings,  when 
his  domestic  affairs  had  given  him  leisure  again,  but  the 
girls  had  already  left.  Then  he  had  waited  quite  confidently 
for  them  to  turn  up  here.  Elfrida  Carthew  was  not  the  girl 
to  remain  away  from  the  boards  if  she  could  help  it.  He 
felt  sure  she  would  bring  the  other  with  her,  and  his  faith 
was  quickly  justified. 

It  appeared  that  Sally  had  only  come  with  Elfrida  be- 
cause Elfrida  had  implored  it.  Sally  did  not  particularly 
want  to  go  on  the  stage.  She  did  not  think  she  could  dance, 
at  least,  not  before  a  lot  of  people,  all  of  them  staring  at 
her !  She  could  sing  most  things  she  heard,  but  she  sang 
only  to  herself.  Sally  was  diffident  of  her  powers,  hesitat- 
ing about  her  requirements,  satisfied  to  play  second  string 
to  Elfrida,  who  was  resplendent  in  the  blue  serge  with  the 
brass  buttons. 

"  Now  you  say  you  can  sing  anything  you  hear.    Have 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

you  heard  Jenny  Jones  and  Minnie  Mason  in  their  duet 
'  We're  lassies  from  the  country  '  ?  " 

Yes,  as  it  happened,  Sarah  had  heard  them.  She  knew 
the  tune  and  some  of  the  words. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  let  me  see  what  you  can  do  with  it.  You 
and  Miss  Carthew.  I'll  call  in  Mr.  Hyams ;  he'll  give  you 
the  air." 

Elfrida,  who  had  had  a  little  training,  caught  at  the 
chance  of  exhibiting  her  powers.  Sally  was  unwilling,  and 
at  first  almost  unpersuadable.  She  did  not  mind  Mr.  Aarons, 
or  Elfrida,  but,  when  Mr.  Hyams  sat  down  to  the  piano  she 
was  struck  suddenly  dumb.  She  never  had  sung  to  a  piano, 
she  couldn't  sing  to  a  piano,  and,  as  for  dancing  .  .  . 

Mr.  Hyams  nevertheless  struck  up  a  few  chords,  swinging 
half  round  on  the  music  stool,  watching  their  effect : 

"  This  is  the  way  it  goes.  .  .  ." 

He  hummed  a  stave  or  two,  looking  at  Sally,  willing  her. 
Elfrida  raised  her  voice  to  join  with  his,  Joe,  husky  but 
tuneful,  struck  in  for  the  chorus.  Mr.  Hyams  kept  the 
accompaniment  low,  a  mere  murmur  of  chords.  Involuntarily 
Sally's  fresh  young  voice  joined  in.  Elfrida  sang  her  part 
with  spirit,  and  Sally  gained  confidence  as  she  went  on. 
The  song  was  catchy,  the  words  were  full  of  innuendo,  but 
that  Sally  missed.  Elfrida  supplied  it,  however,  over-sup- 
plied it,  and  the  contrast  made  the  thing  piquant.  It  was 
not  sung  as  Jenny  Jones  and  Minnie  Mason  had  sung  it,  but 
it  suggested  a  new  combination  to  Joe ;  it  gave  him  a  sudden 
idea. 

"  There,  there,  that  will  do."  He  stopped  them  after  a 
verse : 

"A  very  pretty  voice,  my  dear,  very  pretty ;  they  go  well 
together,  too.  Don't  you  think  so,  Ike  ?  Now,  look  here, 
I've  got  an  idea  for  you.  You  go  outside  a  bit ;  you  can 
talk  things  over  between  yourselves.  Miss  Carthew,  she 

144 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

wants  a  chance.  Miss  Snape,  she  can't  make  up  her  mind 
what  she  wants.  You  talk  things  over,  and  me  and  my 
friend  here  will  talk  things  over  too." 

For  Mr.  Hyams  was  not  part  of  the  business,  as  they 
had  imagined,  he  was  a  relative  out  of  work.  Already 
Joe  had  found  that  his  unerring  ear,  and  his  musical 
talent,  almost  amounting  to  genius,  were  invaluable  to  the 
office. 

Isaac  Hyams  had  been  educated  at  the  Jews'  Free  School, 
gaining  every  possible  prize  and  scholastic  honour;  for 
three  years  after  he  left  there  he  held  a  clerkship  in  the 
office  of  Messrs.  Rothschild.  But  his  musical  gift  burned 
within  him,  and  would  not  be  denied.  He  left  the  security 
of  the  bank,  dispensed  with  the  kindly  interest  of  the 
great  philanthropic  house,  to  play  third  violin  in  the  band 
of  the  Grecian.  With  incredible  sacrifice  he  had  paid  for 
lessons  in  harmony,  and  in  orchestration.  At  twenty-three 
years  of  age  he  knew  he  had  been  wise  in  his  decision ;  he 
knew  he  would  rather  starve  to  music  than  quill-drive  to 
affluence.  Grand  opera  was  his  goal ;  en  route  to  it  he  had 
written  half  a  dozen  music-hall  songs.  Now  that  he  has 
found  his  medium,  every  one  has  heard  of  him,  but  these 
were  the  days  of  his  novitiate. 

"  Well  ? "  said  Joe,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  His 
tone  was  interrogative,  but  triumphant.  "What  do  you 
think  ?  That's  the  girl  I  told  you  of,  you  remember,  the 
one  I  met  at  Brighton." 

Isaac  Hyams  turned  his  ungainly  person  to  and  fro  on 
the  music  stool,  playing  chords  with  his  left  hand. 

"  She'll  do,"  he  said  laconically. 

"  Pretty  voice  ?  " 

"Not  much  of  it." 

"  Good  ear ;  hits  it  in  the  middle  ?  n 

"Very;  oh,  yes,  quite." 

L  145 


THE   HEART  OF   A   CHILD 

"  And  she  can  move." 

"There's  less  doubt  about  her  figure  than  about  her 
voice." 

"  I've  been  thinking."  Joe  always  spoke  slowly  when  he 
thought.  "Did  you  notice  —  did  anything  strike  you  — 
the  one  so  knowing,  the  other  so  innocent  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  saw  what  you  did.  You'll  bring  'em  out 
as  <  The  Silly  Billy  Girls,'  or  '  The  Tutti  Frutti  Girls.'  I'll 
write  the  song,  I've  got  the  song  in  my  mind." 

The  chords  altered ;  now  he  faced  the  piano,  played  with 
both  hands  a  little  repetitive  melody,  the  refrain  in  a  minor 
key.  "  I'll  get  the  words  up  to-night." 

"But  she'll  have  to  be  taught.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes ;  but  she's  got  it  in  her,  the  dancing,  I  mean,  not 
the  singing.  There's  a  rhythmic  music  about  her  personal- 
ity. Listen,  this  is  it."  He  went  on  playing. 

"I  saw  that  down  at  Brighton  —  spotted  it  at  once," 
Joe  said  triumphantly.  As  Isaac  played  he  pictured  Sally 
dancing,  "but  I  shall  have  to  engage  the  other  girl  with 
her.  I'll  get  Job  Macher  to  take  them  both,  and  give  them 
a  good  doing  over.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  pay  him." 

"  Haven't  they,  either  of  them,  got  anybody  ?  " 

"  The  little  one,  Elf rida  Carthew,  had  a  friend,  Captain 
Gordon.  He  paid  a  premium  for  her  when  I  got  her  on  at 
Roma,  and  she  had  some  lessons  then.  The  other  is  quite 
fresh.  She's  got  nobody.  I  must  do  it  on  my  own  if  I  do 
it.  It's  a  speculation." 

Isaac  Hyams  got  up.  He  wore  his  black  hair  uncon- 
scionably long,  his  nose  was  abnormally  large,  he  spoke 
with  an  East  End  accent,  and  he  had  the  further  disadvan- 
tage of  adenoids.  He  had  forgotten  to  shave,  and  possibly 
to  wash,  this  being  Thursday  —  next  day,  Friday,  of  ^course, 
he  would  wash.  But  there  was  a  sense  of  power  and  ca- 
pacity about  him,  even  now. 

146 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"There  is  no  speculation  about  it;  it  is  a  certainty. 
She  wants  teaching,  of  course,  but  then  she'll  catch  on. 
She's  just  got  that  particular  quality  which  shells  success. 
I'll  write  this  song  for  her ;  that  ought  to  make  us  quits 
on  what  I  owe  you.  The  other  girl  is  a  bit  of  a  let-down, 
but  there  is  no  money  in  anything  but  a  duet  at  the 
moment.  Job  Macher  can  have  the  manuscript  to-morrow. 
He  must  make  her  move,  make  her  more  flexible.  Her 
two  yards  of  red  hair  and  her  eighteen-inch  waist  must  be 
accentuated.  I'll  get  'em  in  the  song.  But  she  must  move 
about." 

Then  he  changed  the  subject.  "  Sophie  Darnley  and  that 
Travers  girl  are  waiting.  Are  you  going  to  see  them  ?  " 

"Presently.  Do  'em  good  to  wait.  You're  not  off,  are 
you  ?  » 

"  I'd  like  to  get  the  thing  on  paper."  He  was  humming 
it,  trying  to  capture  a  new  musical  phrase.  "You  can 
do  without  me,  can't  you  ?  " 

It  was  not  easy  to  persuade  Sally  Snape  that  Brook  Street 
was  to  be  given  up,  and  with  it  her  prospect  of  meeting 
Mr.  Perry  again.  Joe  talked  a  great  deal,  and  then  he 
took  the  girls  to  lunch  at  Frascati's.  He  pointed  out  this 
and  the  other  celebrity,  and  casually  mentioned  their 
salaries.  The  sums  seemed  incredible  to  Sally,  but  were 
familiar  hearsay  to  Elfrida.  Every  girl,  or  party  of  girls, 
had  some  young  man  with  her  or  them,  and  groups  of 
young  men  stood  about  or  lunched  together,  but  they  all 
seemed  to  know  Joe  and  each  other,  and  all  the  girls. 

Sally  got  an  impression  of  large  black  hats,  heavy 
feathered,  and  of  feather  boas ;  she  was  still  too  near  her 
Hampstead  Heath  days  not  to  be  envious  of  the  plumage. 
She  liked  the  good  food.  Joe  told  her  that  May  Vernon 
had  been  at  the  halls  before  Tom  Peters  found  her  and 
gave  her  her  first  engagement  at  the  Crystal.  Now  she 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

had  a  hundred  a  week,  and  drew  every  penny  of  it.  Tilly 
Gunesty  was  doing  a  trick  turn  with  the  Dalrymple 
Brothers  wh«n  she  was  discovered.  And  so  on.  New  talk, 
new  worlds,  for  Sally  Snape.  It  was  being  made  attractive 
for  her  to  go  to  Job  Macher. 

Many  people  looked  at  Joe  Aarons  and  his  party  that 
day  at  Frascati's.  Elfrida's  type  was  familiar.  She  had 
been  there  before.  Harry  Gordon's  friends  all  knew  her. 
But  Sally  was  new,  unfamiliar.  And  she  was  gazing  about 
her  with  the  interested  eyes  of  a  child.  They  were  child's 
eyes,  too ;  it  was  almost  impossible  not  to  recognize  that. 
One  or  two  habitue's  sauntered  over  to  speak  to  Joe. 
Johnny  Lyne,  for  instance,  and  Tom  Chenie.  But  Joe 
gave  no  introduction.  Neither  the  artist  nor  the  derelict 
aristocrat  could  be  of  any  use  to  him  in  launching  his 
find. 

"What  are  you  going  to  tell  them  in  Brook  Street?" 
was  Elfrida's  first  question  to  Sally  when  they  had  left 
Joe,  after  going  back  with  him  to  the  office,  signing  that 
little  bit  of  an  agreement  he  suggested,  and  arranging  to 
go  with  him  to  Job  Macher  on  Monday.  "  You're  regularly 
apprenticed,  aren't  you?  You'll  have  to  invent  some- 
thing." 

"Invent!" 

"  Well,  give  some  excuse  for  leaving.  We  shall  have  to 
change  our  room.  I  wouldn't  have  signed  that  agreement 
if  I'd  been  you.  You've  bound  yourself  for  two  years.  He 
knew  better  than  to  ask  me." 

"  But  he  is  going  to  pay  to  have  me  taught  dancing  and 
singing,  and  to  give  me  one  pound  a  week  when  I'm  out  of 
an  engagement,  and  three  pounds  when  I'm  in;  and  find 
my  dresses ! " 

"  That's  all  very  well ;  but  if  you're  any  good,  he  might 
make  thirty  pounds  a  week  out  of  you,"  she  retorted. 

148 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Of  course,  she  -was  jealous,  bitterly  jealous.  Joe  had 
found  an  opportunity  for  a  private  word  or  two  with  her. 
She  knew  she  had  to  make  Sally  in  love  with  her  prospects. 
Her  own  engagement  depended  upon  Sally's  signing  the 
agreement  for  which  she  now  taunted  her.  Elfrida  knew 
well  enough  that  it  was  to  Sally  she  owed  her  own  chance 
of  a  fresh  start.  Joe  left  her  under  no  illusion.  It  was 
for  the  halls,  and  not  for  the  theatre,  they  were  to  be 
coached. 

Like  all  young  ladies  in  her  position,  Elfrida  held  a 
quite  extraordinary  view  of  her  own  talents.  It  was  only 
a  "chance"  she  wanted.  She  had  seen  no  particular  merit 
in  Sally's  rendering  of  "  We're  lassies  from  the  country  " ; 
she  thought  her  own  much  better  and  truer  to  the  original. 
Only  let  her  have  a  chance,  and  she  would  show  them  what 
she  could  do.  And  then  .  .  .  The  "then,"  with  all  its 
possibilities,  that  crowded  into  Elfrida's  vain  fair  head, 
included  a  successor  to  Captain  Gordon  with  an  unlimited 
income  and  an  unappeasable  desire  to  spend  it  all  upon 
her.  She  was  not  more  uneven  in  her  temper  than  Sally 
had  seen  her  before ;  in  fact,  she  had  intervals  of 
extraordinary  good  humour  in  the  next  week,  when  Sally 
was  suffering  under  the  difficulties  of  Miss  Baines'  cross- 
examination. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Perry  will  say  when  he  hears 
you  are  leaving  us,  or  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham.  Why,  she 
paid  fifty  pounds  for  you  to  come  h«re.  And  now  you  are 
sacrificing  that." 

But  encouraged  and  stimulated  by  Elfrida,  Sally  stood 
firm. 

She  had  her  hardest  task  on  Sunday;  with  Charlie  Pea- 
stone.  It  was  Charlie  who  had  taken  her  to  the  music-hall 
where  she  had  heard  the  song  that  had  confirmed  Joe's 
opinion  of  her.  Charlie  Peastone  was  in  love,  in  love  to 

149 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

the  utmost  extent  of  his  limited  capacity.  He  waited  for 
Sally  of  an  evening  when  she  left  Brook  Street ;  he  had 
taken  her  twice  to  the  theatre  and  once  to  a  music-hall. 
He  was  very  proud  when  people  turned  round  to  look  at 
her,  and  he  often  let  slip  the  opportunity  of  making  a  joke. 
By  mutual  consent  the  subject  of  marriage  was  left  in 
abeyance.  And  he  understood  that  Sally  objected  to  any 
tangible  expression  of  his  affection.  But  she  liked  going 
with  him  to  places  of  amusement,  and  she  wore  the  gold 
"  Mizpah  "  ring  that  he  had  given  her. 

The  last  Sunday  of  all,  the  Sunday  before  she  was  to 
begin  her  public  career,  he  met  her  by  appointment  at  the 
Museum  tube  station,  and  went  on  with  her  to  Lancaster 
Gate.  This  was  their  best  way  to  get  into  Kensington 
Gardens.  The  weather  was  still  fine,  and  the  Gardens,  in 
their  autumn  garb  of  browns  and  yellows,  were  almost  as 
beautiful  as  in  their  early  green.  Sally  liked  walking  by 
the  water,  watching  the  sun  on  it,  and  the  ducks.  She  would 
have  liked  to  stand  and  feed  them,  but  Charlie  said 
it  was  "rather  low."  In  his  light  bowler  hat,  cut-away 
coat,  black  and  white  check  waistcoat,  and  green  tie, 
Charlie  presented  a  very  stylish  appearance.  It  seemed 
impossible  any  girl  could  resist  him.  He  was  in  very  high 
spirits,  too,  this  morning.  Sally  had  been  quite  nice  to 
him  all  the  week.  And  she  looked  "rippin'"  this  fine 
autumn  morning,  "simply  rippin'."  On  the  strength  of 
her  certain  one  pound  a  week,  and  probable  three  pounds, 
she  had  bought  a  new  hat,  a  small  one  with  a  green  bird  in 
it,  and  her  hair  was  fluffed  up  and  pinned  against  it,  in  the 
very  latest  fashion. 

"  Well,  I  call  that  a  compliment,  trimming  your  hat  to 
match  my  tie." 

"  I  hadn't  seen  your  tie,"  she  answered,  with  the  extra- 
ordinary directness  that  characterized  her.  "  I  got  this 

150 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

hat  at  Shoolbred's,  because  it  was  like  the  one  I  first  saw 
Lady  Dorothea  in  when  she  came  to  see  me  in  the  hospital. 
I  trimmed  it  myself." 

"What!  the  hospital?"  But  he  pulled  himself  up. 
"Anyway,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  it  suits  you.  Rather 
different  to  when  I  first  met  you.  Not  but  what  I  saw 
then  you  were  different  to  all  others.  But  there  is  no 
doubt  being  among  dressy  people  has  done  a  lot  for  you." 
His  ever-growing  admiration  had  to  find  an  excuse,  and, 
certainly  Miss  Sarah  Snape  of  the  Brook  Street  establish- 
ment, a  stylish  figure  in  her  small  toque  and  spotted  veil, 
was  a  very  different  person  from  the  rough-headed  factory 
girl  he  had  found  with  Luke  Cullen  in  Epping  Forest. 
"  You'd  hold  your  own  with  any  of  them,  and  a  bit  of  theirs 
too.  How  are  things  going  ?  Mr.  Perry  back  ? "  For 
Charlie,  too,  had  heard  of  the  difference  his  absence  made. 

"No." 

She  wanted  to  tell  Charlie  that  she  had  left  Brook 
Street,  and  had  no  longer  an  interest  in  Mr.  Perry's 
return.  But  it  was  easier  to  watch  the  ducks.  He  had 
no  right  to  interfere,  no  one  had  any  right  to  interfere, 
with  her  actions.  But  she  "  couldn't  be  walking  out  with 
him,  and  him  not  know." 

"I've  left  the  shop,"  she  said,  at  length,  moving  back 
from  the  water's  edge,  not  looking  at  him. 

Charlie  turned  pale;  he  was  habitually  pale,  but  he 
turned  paler. 

"  Left  the  shop ! "  he  ejaculated.  "  Well !  I  didn't  expect 
you'd  have  brought  it  with  you."  He  collected  himself 
to  say  this,  with  an  attempt  at  jocularity  to  cover  his 
astonishment.  "Did  they  give  you  the  sack?  Are  they 
turning  off  the  others  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

He  was  quite  overwhelmed  with  the  news.  Sally's  style 
and  consequence  had  so  much  improved  at  Brook  Street. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Fears  knocked  at  his  heart,  at  first  merely  selfish,  then  for 
her  sake.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  Then  a  splendid 
vision  dawned,  but  faded  quickly.  "  I  wish  I  could  afford 
to  get  married.  Why  didn't  I  save  like  Alf  Stevens  ?  I 
say,  wouldn't  it  be  rippin'  if  we  could  take  a  little  place  ?  " 

"  I've  got  an  engagement." 

"  To  me,  I  know." 

"I  don't  mean  that.  You  know  I'm  not  engaged  to 
you.  You  can  take  back  your  old  ring." 

"  Don't  be  huffy.  I  didn't  mean  it.  I  know  you  don't 
care  about  me."  He  looked  at  her  for  a  denial;  he  was 
humbler  with  Sally  than  with  any  girl  he  had  ever  wooed. 
Still  it  was  difficult  to  believe  she  did  not  care  about  him. 

"  I'm  going  on  the  stage." 
.  "You're  not." 

"Yes,  lam." 

He  was  struck  dumb.  He  sat  down  on  the  seat,  dis- 
turbing two  nurse  girls.  Sally  stood  up  beside  him,  and 
the  sun  played  with  her  hair. 

"  What's  against  it  ?  "  she  asked  defiantly.  Elfrida  had 
coached  her. 

"  An  actress ! "  Visions  of  home,  of  domestic  ties  and 
joys,  the  better  life  he  was  going  to  lead,  had,  in  fact, 
begun  to  lead,  were  suddenly  darkened  and  blotted  out 
by  her  words. 

"  It's  impossible  !     I  —  I  —  won't  have  it." 

"  You !  You  won't  have  it,"  she  said  contemptuously. 
"  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  You  know  you  as  good  as  promised." 

"  I  promised  nothing.  You  said  we'd  walk  out  together. 
And  we  walked  out.  But  I've  no  call  to  give  up  anything  I 
choose  to  do." 

"  You'd  rather  break  my  heart." 

In  vain  he  told  her  that  it  was  not  respectable,  that  she 

152 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

would  unfit  herself  to  become  the  wife  of  a  clerk  at  Messrs, 
Hall  &  Palmer's.  He  told  her  what  Mary  would  say,  and 
Alf ;  he  used  every  argument  at  his  command.  Sally  knew 
she  would  keep  herself  respectable,  whatever  she  did ;  she 
had  no  fears,  and  some  resentment. 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  was  what  she  said.  But 
poor  Charlie  felt  she  would  be  lost  to  him.  He,  too,  had 
been  under  the  glamour  when  he  was  younger.  In  that 
poor  fast  life  he  had  sampled,  in  the  foyers  of  cheap  music- 
halls,  at  drinking  bars,  and  in  the  streets,  the  words  "  I've 
been  an  actress  "  had  spelt  sad  histories.  The  best  in  him, 
that  best  which  his  love  for  Sally  had  awakened,  wanted 
a  home;  he  could  not  associate  it  with  the  word  actress. 
He  had  an  outside  view  of  life,  perhaps,  but  what  he 
had  seen  negatived  the  possibility  of  the  juxtaposition  of 
the  word  "wife"  with  the  word  "actress."  Charlie  was 
hideously  depressed  and  Sally  was  extraordinarily  rude. 
She  hated  him  for  the  misgivings  with  which  he  inspired 
her.  She  would  not  "  let  on "  that  his  words  made  any 
impression,  she  gave  him  back  his  ring  and  repudiated 
any  possible  promise  or  engagement.  By  the  time  he  left 
her  at  Ursula  Rugeley's  the  breach  between  them  was  ir- 
reparable. 

To  Ursula  the  news  was  equally  startling,  but,  being  a 
more  educated  person,  she  had  a  more  open  mind.  Also, 
whilst  the  word  "  actress  "  meant  to  Charlie  Peastone  a  rad- 
dled, half -drunken  creature,  vagrant  between  the  police  court 
and  the  streets,  to  Ursula  it  meant  the  Terrys,  or  Winifred 
Emery,  Mrs.  Kendal,  or  Violet  Vanbrugh.  Ursula  Rugeley 
was  held  captive  by  Sally  Snape's  charms ;  she  had  been 
fascinated  from  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance.  Sally's 
slowness  in  acquiring  education  had  not  impaired  Ursula's 
belief  that  the  girl  could  do  anything  on  which  she  set  her 
mind. 

*53 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"I  wish  you  were  going  to  His  Majesty's,  or  the  Hay- 
market." 

Prompted  by  Elfrida,  Sally  had  said  only  that  she 
was  going  on  the  stage,  leaving  out  the  fact  that  it  was 
the  music-hall  stage  upon  which  she  would  make  her 
debut. 

"  However,  I  am  sure,  since  this  Mr.  Aarons  has  been  so 
kind  to  you,  he  will  see  that  you  get  into  a  nice  company. 
But  what  about  that  young  man  you  were  telling  me  about, 
the  one  who  is  clerk  at  Messrs.  Hall  &  Palmer's  ?  What 
does  he  say  about  it  ?  " 

Sally  flushed.  She  had  been  very  angry  with  Charlie; 
her  anger  was  due  to  the  fact  that  so  much  of  what  he  had 
said  voiced  her  own  feelings.  She  was  full  of  misgivings. 

"He  doesn't  like  it  at  all.  He  said  it  was  as  good  as 
going  on  the  streets.  I'm  not  going  to  have  anything  more 
to  do  with  him.  He  took  it  on  himself  to  say  he  shouldn't 
let  me  do  it ;  it  was  like  his  impudence.  I  gave  him  back 
his  ring." 

"  Oh  dear,  I  am  so  sorry.  I  thought  you  were  beginning 
to  care  for  him.  You  know  when  he  brought  you  here  last 
Sunday  you  looked  so  bright  and  happy." 

"It  wasn't  him,  it  was  the  river.  We'd  been  to  Rich- 
mond." 


154 


CHAPTER  IX 

MONDAY  found  Sally,  very  nervous,  walking  up  and 
down,  with  Elfrida,  outside  a  shop  in  the  Borough 
Road,  waiting  for  Joe  Aarons. 

"  I'm  sure  I  shan't  be  able  to  do  a  thing  he  tells  me.  I 
never  could  abide  to  be  ordered  about."  She  was  quite 
pale,  and  in  her  least  attractive  mood.  "  As  for  singing  or 
dancing  this  way  or  that  to  anybody's  bidding  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  buck  up,"  said  Elfrida.  "I  know  Job  Macher. 
I've  had  lessons  with  him  before.  He'll  shout  at  you,  and 
his  language  is  awful,  but  you'll  like  him  all  the  same. 
He  is  a  splendid  teacher,  the  best  going." 

"  As  for  language,  I'll  give  him  as  good  as  he  brings." 

"  Don't  you  sauce  him.  You  just  try  and  get  on.  Don't 
forget  the  sooner  you  are  ready  the  sooner  you'll  get  your 
screw." 

Just  then  Joe's  hansom  drove  up.  Joe  had  a  flower  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  a  big  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

Mr.  Macher's  academy  was  over  a  newspaper  and  station- 
ery shop,  with  which,  somehow  or  other,  tobacco  was  inex- 
tricably mingled. 

"I'm  in  a  tearing  hurry.  I've  got  to  get  back  to  the 
office  in  twenty  minutes.  Tom  Peters  is  sending  out  five 
touring  companies  with  'The  Boys  from  Burton,'  and 
wants  no  end  of  girls.  So  hurry  up,  my  dears.  I'm  glad 
you  didn't  keep  me  waiting." 

He  bustled  them  through  the  shop,  where  he  seemed  to 
be  well  known,  for  a  man  in  shirt  sleeves  and  a  tidy-look- 
ing woman  simultaneously  said  "  good  day." 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Mr.  Macher  is  in  his  room,"  the  woman  said,  but  Joe 
was  already  half  up  the  stairs,  with  the  girls  following. 

The  room  was  large,  and  bare,  save  for  a  piano,  at  which 
sat  a  seedy  young  man.  Job  came  in  a  moment  later,  red- 
faced,  red-nosed,  and  hoarse  of  voice. 

"Morning,  Macher.  These  are  the  girls  I  telephoned 
you  about.  You've  got  their  song  ?  " 

"  He's  just  trying  it."  Mr.  Macher  indicated  the  seedy 
young  man.  He  was  laconic,  and  wasted  no  time  in  greet- 
ings. "  How  long  have  I  got  ?  " 

"  Say  a  fortnight." 

"  Never  done  anything  ?  Why,  I've  seen  you  before." 
This  was  to  Elf  rida. 

"  A  year  and  a  half  ago.  I  only  had  ten  days,"  she  an- 
swered deprecatingly. 

The  dance-master  looked  inquiringly  at  Joe  Aarons. 
He  had  had  particular  instructions  about  these  new  pupils. 
The  song  with  dance  had  been  sent  to  him,  and  it  was  a 
good  one.  But  already  he  had  given  his  verdict  on  Elfrida, 
and  he  was  surprised  to  find  it  was  she  who  was  to  have  it. 
Joe  made  the  position  clear  with  a  wink : 

"  This  is  Miss  Snape ;  by  the  way,  my  dear,  we  must 
find  a  better  name  for  you  before  you  come  out.  She  has 
the  second  part,  a  light  soprano  Mr.  Hyams  calls  her  voice. 
But  it's  the  dance  that  matters.  He's  been  up  to  see  you 
about  it,  hasn't  he?  I  must  run  away.  Let  me  know 
how  things  go,  and  when  they  will  be  ready."  Joe  Aarons 
and  Mr.  Macher  had  a  short  whispered  colloquy  by  the 
door. 

"I couldn't  do  a  thing  here,  I  couldn't  for  the  life  of 
me,"  Sally  said  nervously  to  Elfrida. 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  all  right,"  she  answered  impatiently. 
"I  wonder  what  our  song  is  like.  Have  you  got  a  copy 
of  our  song  ?  "  she  asked  the  youth  at  the  piano. 

156 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

«  The  Tutti  Frutti  Girls  ?  "  he  queried. 

"Yes." 

"  It's  here,  it's  in  manuscript." 

"  Now  then,  young  ladies."     Mr.  Macher  was  upon  them 
"Time  wasted,  wasted  time.     Why  aren't  you  dressed?" 

Elf rida  knew,  but  had  forgotten.  Sally  was  startled,  but 
found  herself  rushed  into  action.  Mr.  Macher's  rasping 
voice  penetrated  to  where  they  had  been  sent,  to  take  off 
their  walking  skirts  and  boots,  to  put  on  shoes  and  abbrevi- 
ated petticoats.  It  was  all  bustle  and  hurry,  the  piano 
and  Mr.  Macher's  penetrating  voice  summoning  them  simul- 
taneously. 

"  Now  then,  aren't  you  ready  ?  How  much  longer  ? 
Come  along  now,  I  can't  stay  here  all  day." 

It  was  Sally's  extraordinary  adaptability  that  made  her 
success.  Within  ten  minutes,  all  shyness;  nervous  fears, 
and  doubts  of  herself  dispelled,  she  was  dancing,  under 
Mr.  Macher's  directions,  to  the  tunes  the  pianist  read  or 
improvised.  Sally  had  forgotten  the  g&ne  of  her  short 
skirts,  she  was  being  taught  to  kick  them  out  of  her  way. 
Mr.  Macher  had  no  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  If  he  wanted 
his  pupils  to  do  a  thing,  he  showed  them  by  doing  it  himself. 
He  picked  up  his  imaginary  skirt,  held  up  his  ungainly  leg 
in  its  black  and  white  check  trousers,  put  his  ugly  red  face 
now  to  this  side,  now  to  the  other,  grinned  at  an  imaginary 
audience,  and  showed  his  yellow,  uneven  teeth,  all  with 
complete  unconsciousness  of  anything  bizarre  or  unusual 
about  his  performance. 

For  half  a  century  Job  Macher  had  been  teaching  chorus 
girls  to  dance  and  sing.  At  one  time  or  another  he  had  had 
the  majority  of  the  music-hall  stars  under  his  able  hands. 
He  recognized  a  girl's  capacity  and  limitations  in  one  lesson. 
He  tried  to  teach  them  only  what  he  knew  they  could  learn. 
Elfrida  Carthew  had  found  him  unexacting  and  com- 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

paratively  easy  to  please.  But  then,  he  had  known  all 
about  Harry  Gordon's  premium,  and  how  little  was  ex- 
pected of  Miss  Carthew,  beyond  keeping  her  place  in  the 
fourth  row.  Sally  Snape  was  a  very  different  proposition. 
It  was  not  often  that  Joe  Aarons  paid  for  anybody.  He 
was  a  purveyor  rather  than  a  speculator.  Sally,  after  her 
first  half  hour,  during  which  she  had  merely  been  allowed 
to  show  her  incapacity,  found  herself,  to  her  ultimate  sur- 
prise, although  in  the  excitement  of  movement  she  had 
hardly  realized  it,  being  screamed  at,  and  sworn  at,  and 
ordered  to  do  this  and  that,  not  once  but  six,  seven,  and 
even  eight  times,  found  herself  in  the  grip  of  a  tyrannous 
taskmaster,  exhausted,  out  of  breath,  aching  in  every  limb, 
but  still  unreleased. 

Elfrida's  vanity,  which  had  been  hurt  by  Joe  Aarons'  in- 
difference, plumed  itself  again,  and  grew  sleek  while  Sally 
was  being  bullied  and  abused,  and  her  own  efforts  were  left 
practically  uncriticised.  The  two  hours,  during  which  it 
seemed  to  Sally  she  had  done  the  hardest  work  she  had 
ever  done  in  her  life,  passed  quite  quickly  and  pleasantly 
to  Elfrida.  She  would  have  been  surprised  if  she  had 
known  that  it  was  because  the  dancing-master  knew  there 
was  no  talent  in  her  that  he  made  no  effort  to  bring  it  out. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  Sally  had  all  the  possibilities,  and 
the  earnestness  she  put  into  her  work,  the  complete  way 
in  which  she  gave  herself  up  to  his  teaching,  endeavour- 
ing to  carry  out  his  orders,  accentuated  his  desire  to  get 
her  on.  The  bullying  and  swearing  meant  nothing;  it 
was  just  his  way.  And,  of  course,  Sally  had  everything 
to  learn.  She  was  ordered  to  come  back  in  the  afternoon 
for  a  singing  lesson.  In  the  meantime  she  might  rest. 
Job  was  quite  civil  to  her  when  the  lesson  was  at  an  end. 

"You'll  have  to  work  very  hard  if  Joe  Aarons  wants 
you  ready  in  a  fortnight.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  the  thing  can 

158 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

be  done,  not  at  all  sure.  You'll  have  to  get  the  hang  of  it, 
the  swing  and  go.  There's  no  use  moving  to  music,  what 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  move  to  the  audience.  You've  got 
to  make  'em  feel  as  if  they  were  all  dancing  your  dance, 
swaying  and  singing  with  you."  He  even  went  so  far  as  to 
say :  "  You  mustn't  mind  me  swearing  and  cursing  at  you. 
You  try  and  make  me  clap  my  hands  and  encore.  You  get 
me  to  do  that,  and  you're  all  right.  And  it's  to  be  done, 
mind  you,  it's  to  be  done." 

It  was  Job  Macher's  advice  that  Sally  should  practise 
dancing  every  day,  and  all  day  long,  except  for  the 
hour  or  so  with  the  singing-master.  But  her  evenings 
were  to  be  spent  at  the  music-halls.  Sally  must  get  the 
trick  of  appealing  to  her  audience.  For  to-night  he  gave 
them  tickets  for  the  Grecian,  to  hear  Jenny  Jones  and 
Minnie  Mason  again.  But  he  promised  to  speak  to  Joe 
Aarons  about  it,  and  see  they  were  supplied  with  passes  for 
the  syndicate,  and  other,  halls. 

Sally  fell  in  with  her  new  life  just  as  readily  as  she  had 
fallen  in  with  the  factory  routine,  and  the  Brook  Street 
ways.  She  did  exercises,  she  skipped  for  hours  before  the 
glass,  she  danced  and  practised  steps,  and  with  some 
difficulty  she  learnt  the  words  of  the  duet  that  Isaac  Hyams 
had  written  for  her.  She  spent  her  evenings  trying  to 
capture  the  secret  of  the  applause  that  greeted  this  or  the 
other  popular  favourite.  In  the  first  few  days  she  was 
often  too  tired  to  sleep.  She  passed  through  the  inevit- 
able stage  when  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  progressing 
backwards,  to  have  grown  stiffer  and  more  ungainly,  to 
have  lost  what  little  she  had  learnt.  Job  had  to  encourage, 
instead  of  swearing  at  her,  the  day  she  broke  down.  That 
was  the  day  she  burst  into  tears,  and  said  she  would  give 
it  up,  she  knew  she  was  beat,  she  couldn't  learn,  and  he 
was  tired  of  trying  to  teach  her. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"What,  what!  you  crying?  Well,  I  never!  What 
did  I  say  ?  You  mustn't  mind  what  I  say ;  I  only  go  on 
like  that  when  I've  got  ground  to  work  on.  You'll  be  all 
right ;  it  takes  a  little  time.  She's  nothing  to  cry  about, 
has  she,  Mr.  Jones  ?  Why,  Mr.  Jones  was  saying  to  me, 
only  the  moment  before  you  came  in,  he  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved you  could  have  got  on  so  quick ;  done  so  much  in 
the  time.  Leave  off  crying ;  here,  have  a  drop  of  this." 

He  was  hoarsely  kind,  he  put  his  own  glass  of  rum  and 
water  to  her  lips,  and,  although  she  pushed  it  away,  laugh- 
ing and  crying  at  the  same  time,  he  made  her  sip  a  little. 

"  I  thought  you  meant  I  wasn't  doing  it  any  better  than 
at  first.  I  thought  you'd  got  tired  of  teaching  me." 

"Tired  of  teaching  you!  Not  me.  You're  getting  on 
all  right,  but  I  wanted  to  surprise  Joe  Aarons,  that's  why 
I  swore.  He's  coming  to-morrow  to  see  how  it  goes.  Now, 
I  want  you  to  pull  yourself  together,  and  go  through  it 
once  more.  You  aren't  tired,  are  you  ?  " 

Of  course  Sally  was  tired,  hysterical  from  fatigue,  but  she 
would  have  scorned  now  to  admit  it.  When  she  had  gone 
once  more  through  the  steps,  however,  he  realized  it,  and 
let  her  go  for  the  day : 

"Now,  don't  you  go  out  to-night;  you  go  straight 
home,  and  go  to  bed.  Turkish  bath  and  massage  would 
be  the  best  thing  for  you,  but  I  suppose  it  won't  run  to 
that?  About  to-morrow,  Joe  is  coming  at  eleven  with 
Mr.  Hyams.  You  be  here  at  10.30  with  Miss  Carthew,  and 
I  think  we'll  show  them  something  that  will  surprise  them. 
How  about  your  dresses  ?  Has  he  said  anything  to  you 
about  them  ?  You  ought  to  wear  tights,  and  as  little  else 
as  possible.  But  I  suppose  that  won't  do  for  the  Paragon," 
he  said  regretfully. 

Sally,  whose  body  during  this  fortnight  had  been  treated 
as  goods  for  the  market,  had  ceased,  or  forgotten,  to  resent 

160 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

it.  Job  had  been  so  matter-of-fact  in  his  allusions  to  her 
legs,  to  her  back,  to  any  and  every  part  of  her  anatomy, 
that,  after  the  first  strangeness  had  worn  off,  she  had  fallen 
in  with  his  views.  She  was  glad  of  her  straight  legs,  of  her 
slender  waist,  of  her  suppleness.  She  had  never  had  much 
time  to  think  of  herself,  or  her  appearance,  until  she  went 
to  Brook  Street.  Since  then  she  had  thought  of  little 
else.  Job  Macher's  methods  taught  her  to  give  expression 
to  her  physical  values,  but  in  a  way  that  left  certain  in- 
herent modesties  untouched.  She  drew  on  her  first  pair 
of  borrowed  tights,  Job  had  lent  them  to  her,  and  she  wore 
with  them  the  old  merino  bodice,  and  the  short  skirt  in 
which  she  had  taken  all  her  dancing  lessons.  This  was 
the  costume  in  which  she  appeared  before  Joe  Aarons  and 
his  partner.  Her  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle,  the  mass 
of  it  coiled  low  down  on  her  neck.  Her  face  was  flushed, 
and  her  eyes  were  dark  with  excitement.  She  was  going 
to  do  her  best,  she  was  going  to  do  Mr.  Macher  credit,  after 
all  the  trouble  he  had  taken  with  her.  But  she  had  no 
more  g&ne  about  her  exposed  legs  than  a  child  in  shoes  and 
socks. 

Joe  and  Isaac  Hyams  were  there  on  business.  Tom 
Peters  had  taken  all  the  available  metropolitan  talent 
for  his  "  Boys  from  Burton,"  the  greatest  success  he  had 
had  for  years.  The  halls  were  languishing  for  fresh  talent, 
the  public  was  already  tired  of  psychic  manifestations 
and  American  humour.  If,  and  Joe  Aarons  rarely  made  a 
mistake,  Sally  Snape  was  any  good,  his  agreement  with  her 
was  a  bank-note.  Isaac  Hyams  wanted  to  see  how  his 
music  went.  Neither  of  them  wasted  time  in  considering 
Sally's  strange  toilette.  Elfrida,  her  skin-tight  jersey 
matching  her  pink  skirt,  was  of  little  interest  to  them. 

"Let  'em  go  ahead,"  said  Joe,  and  Mr.  Jones  struck 
up  the  "  Tutti  Frutti  Girls."  He  did  not  have  a  chance 
M  161 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

for  more  than  those  opening  chords.  Without  the  least 
ceremony,  Mr.  Hyams  pushed  him  off  the  stool.  .  "  I'll 
play,"  he  said.  "Now,  then,  get  on  with  it." 

Elfrida  knew  her  words  perfectly,  she  ogled  and  was 
arch.  Her  voice  was  shrill,  and  it  carried.  She  was  the 
quintessence  of  commonplace;  there  is  not  a  music-hall 
in  London  that  does  not  boast  an  artist  more  or  less  her 
counterpart.  To  say  she  had  no  talent  is  to  give  her  per- 
formance undue  prominence.  She  had  the  talent  of  creat- 
ing an  atmosphere,  the  atmosphere  of  the  lower-class 
places  of  amusement.  One  saw  and  heard  the  jokes  about 
drink  and  unfaithful  husbands,  mothers-in-law,  and  police ; 
almost  one  smelt  the  smoke,  and  the  stale  beer,  and  the 
breaths  of  the  people.  The  spirit  of  a  lewd,  vulgar,  and 
leering  familiarity  was  in  the  use  she  made  of  her  words, 
the  gestures  with  which  she  accompanied  them.  There 
were  four  men  in  the  room,  and  none  of  them  considered 
her. 

But,  against  the  atmosphere  Elfrida  created,  Sally 
moved  like  music,  was  music.  Isaac  Hyams  found  himself 
following,  instead  of  leading,  her.  The  words  she  sang 
were  as  meaningless  as  if  they  had  come  from  the  lips  of 
a  child,  tunefully,  softly,  she  seemed  to  sing  them  under 
her  breath,  all  her  breath  she  wanted  for  Job  Macher's 
dance.  And  she  danced  it  exquisitely,  with  grace  and 
meaning,  and  a  curious  intentness.  She  combined  the 
air  of  the  novice  practising  her  steps  with  the  neatness 
and  finish  of  the  perfected  artist.  Her  ingenuous  eyes 
asked  for  praise  when  she  had  finished.  But  for  the 
moment  there  was  silence. 

Isaac  Hyams'  extraordinary  vanity  outleapt  the  emotion 
her  performance  had  evoked. 

"  Well,  I  hit  it  neatly,  didn't  I  ?  "  he  asked  Joe.  "  That's 
what  they  want,  the  contrast  of  the  Tutti  girl  from  Devon, 

162 


THE   HEART  OF   A   CHILD 

with  the  Frutti  girl  from  Town.  It's  going  to  take  London, 
that  show  is.  They'll  find  me  out  in  time,  and  Tom  Peters 
will  leave  off  going  to  Jones  and  Daintree  and  Clive  Jack- 
son for  songs  and  music.  Who  are  you  going  to  offer  them 
to?  Not  Albert!" 

Then  they  all  began  to  talk  at  once,  and  discuss  which 
of  the  music-hall  managers  should  have  the  first  refusal  of 
"  The  Tutti  Frutti  Girls."  Job  found  time  to  throw  a  word 
of  praise  to  Sally,  and  the  girls  were  dismissed  to  dress. 
The  animated  discussion  resulted  in  the  decision  for  the 
Grecian.  Job,  who  was  listened  to  with  respect,  was 
against  rushing  Sally  too  quickly  to  the  West  End.  He 
said  she  was  uncertain,  her  work  wanted  steadying.  She 
ought  to  go  on  having  lessons.  Joe  had  got  hold  of  a  good 
thing,  but  he  must  be  careful  how  he  used  it. 

"Mark  you,  she's  no  genius.  It's  the  make  of  her, 
and  a  natural  ear  for  music;  that's  all  you've  got  to  go 
on.  She's  not  bitten  with  the  life,  either.  You'll  make 
a  mistake  if  you  go  too  quick  with  her;  wait  until  she 
catches  right  on  to  it.  Just  now  she  thinks  the  other  girl 
is  the  important  one,  and  that  she  must  keep  in  the  back- 
ground. That  helps  the  effect,  but  you'll  have  to  watch, 
and  see  what  happens  when  she's  learnt  her  value ;  it 
might  just  knock  it  to  bits.  There  is  no  telling  with  this 
sort.  But  don't  you  run  away  with  the  idea,  because  I've 
managed  to  teach  her  a  song  and  a  dance,  that  you've  got 
a  born  genius  to  deal  with." 

Joe  Aarons  prided  himself  on  having  discovered  Sally. 
Isaac  Hyams  was  convinced,  now  and  always,  that  it  was 
to  his  song  and  dance  she  owed  her  subsequent  career. 
Job  Macher  felt  it  was  he  who  had  moulded  her,  and  her 
destinies,  with  his  fortnight's  teaching. 

And  Sally  ?  Sally  did  not  think  at  all,  she  just  let  cir- 
cumstance guide  her. 

163 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

It  guided  her,  a  very  few  days  after  this,  to  the  manager 
of  the  Grecian  music-hall,  in  a  four-wheel  cab,  with  Joe 
Aarons  and  Mr.  Hyams  and  Miss  Elfrida  Carthew. 

The  manager  was  busy  and  indifferent.  He  eyed  the 
girls  with  more  suspicion  than  favour.  He  told  Joe 
Aarons,  abruptly,  that  all  his  geese  were  swans.  He  didn't 
mind  hearing  them,  but  he  was  sick  of  amateurs.  Joe 
told  him  this  would  be  the  first  appearance  in  England 
of  The  Sisters  Mainwaring,  and  the  information  left  him 
cold.  Joe  really  did  his  best  for  them,  and  tried  to  make 
Mr.  Twallin  think  he  was  getting  the  offer  of  a  lifetime. 
But  Mr.  Twallin  had  had  so  many  such  opportunities ! 

Joe  thought  "  The  Sisters  Mainwaring "  sounded  very 
well.  Sally  was  to  be  "  Sarita "  from  this  time  onward. 
He  impressed  upon  her  that  "  Sally  Snape  "  wouldn't  do, 
wouldn't  do  at  all.  It  was  vulgar.  Sarita  was  the  ticket, 
Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring. 

Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring  was  immediately  depressed  by 
Mr.  Twallin's  manner.  She  had  been  buoyed  up  by  Job 
Macher's  praise,  by  the  obvious  satisfaction  of  Joe  Aarons, 
and  by  another  song  which  Mr.  Hyains  hummed  to  her  in 
the  cab.  The  last  two  or  three  days,  too,  Elfrida  had  talked 
of  nothing  but  the  triumph  they  were  going  to  have,  of 
the  applause  that  already  reverberated  in  her  ears,  of  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  "old  Twallin"  would  greet  their 
"  turn." 

It  was  in  the  reaction  of  the  depression  caused  by  Mr. 
Twallin's  indifference  that  she  was  called  upon  to  give  her 
performance. 

"All  right,  then,  let's  see  what  they  can  do.  I'll  be 
back  in  a  minute,  I  must  just  see  what  that  damned  fool, 
Doone,  is  up  to.  We've  got  the  Fosters  from  Brussels 
over  for  to-night,  and  the  trouble  they're  giving  with  their 
apparatus  makes  me  sick.  I  can't  understand  half  they 

164 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

say,  and  their  interpreter  don't  know  a  word  of  any 
language.  Not  a  thing  can  I  ever  get  done  unless  I  do  it 
myself,"  he  grumbled.  "My  idiot  of  a  carpenter  manages 
to  provide  himself  with  an  accident,  and,  so  help  me  God, 
I  believe  his  assistant  is  half-witted.  Look  at  him  now  !  " 

They  were  standing  on  the  steps,  and  Johnny  Doone, 
on  a  ladder,  was  occupied,  or  should  have  been  occupied, 
in  fixing  an  iron  staple  to  a  rafter.  But,  at  the  moment 
Mr.  Twallin  looked  up,  Johnny  Doone  looked  down,  and 
Sally's  was  the  face  on  which  his  eyes  rested.  So  his 
mouth  fell,  and  his  eyes  looked  fixed  as  if  he  saw  an  ap- 
parition. Of  course,  Mr.  Twallin  thought  he  was  a  con- 
genital idiot ;  his  expression  would  have  earned  him  a 
certificate. 

He  was  brought  to  himself  by  a  few  well-directed  oaths. 
Neither  he  nor  Sally  had  the  social  ease  to  carry  the  situa- 
tion. Sally  wondered  how  Johnny  came  there.  She  had 
seen  little  of  Johnny  since  she  came  out  of  hospital. 
He  said  she  had  grown  too  grand  for  him;  anyway,  she 
wouldn't  walk  out  with  him,  and  he  never  saw  her. 

Much  had  happened  to  Johnny,  or  so  he  accounted  it, 
and  regular  work  was  the  outcome  of  the  happenings. 
Outwardly,  he  was  a  stage-carpenter,  and  a  poor  one, 
according  to  Mr.  Twallin.  But  inwardly  he  was  a  "child 
of  grace,"  and  much  uplifted  by  a  recent  conversion. 

"Put  that  blasted  stanchion  in  before  the  hook.  Can't 

you  see,  you  b y  idiot,  that  it's  got  nothing  to  hold  to  ? 

We  shall  have  an  accident  here  to-night,  and  all  London 
talking  about  the  danger  of  these  shows." 

"Well,  they'll  come  and  see  them  all  the  more,"  Joe 
interpolated  comfortingly. 

When  they  had  passed  through  the  dirt  and  debris  on  to 
the  stage,  it  seemed  that  the  band,  ordered  to  put  in  an 
early  attendance,  had  failed  to  appear  at  all.  There  was 

165 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

delay,  with  more  swearing.  Isaac  Hyains  was  prepared  to 
supply  the  place  of  the  entire  orchestra/ had  there  been  a 
piano  available.  But  the  particular  workmen,  whose  work 
it  was  to  move  the  piano,  were  all  occupied  with  the  Fos- 
ter apparatus.  It  was  not  until  the  girls  were  weary  with 
waiting,  Joe  Aarons  irritable,  and  Isaac  absorbed  in  a  "  car- 
penter's symphony,"  the  idea  of  which  had  just  dawned 
upon  him,  that  a  start  was  made.  A  desperately  bad  start 
it  was.  The  girls  had  brought  their  short  skirts  with  them, 
but  Mr.  Twallin  said  he  couldn't  wait  whilst  they  put  them 
on.  Elfrida  showed  temper,  and  said  she  couldn't  dance 
in  a  long  skirt  and  walking  boots.  Mr.  Twallin  replied 
indifferently : 

"  Please  yourself,  my  dear,  either  dance  or  leave  it  alone !  " 

Joe  Aarons  told  her,  sotto  voce,  not  to  make  a  fool  of  her- 
self. The  piano  was  finally  dragged  upon  the  stage  by  the 
gas-fitter  and  one  of  the  firemen,  but  it  was  out  of  tune. 
And  Isaac  Hyams'  fingers  were  out  of  touch.  He  had  lost 
interest  in  his  duet ;  the  symphony  now  was  running  in  his 
mind. 

Under  the  circumstances  it  was  hardly  strange  that  Mr. 
Twallin  was  not  enraptured  with  the  entertainment.  The 
verve  had  gone  out  of  it.  Sally  moved  as  if  she  were  an 
automaton,  Elfrida's  shrillness  was  ill-tempered ;  even  the 
tune  seemed  to  have  lost  its  catch.  Mr,  Twallin's  bored 
expression  gave  the  key  into  which  the  little  show  seemed 
to  fall. 

"  It  isn't  new,  and  it  isn't  good,  and  what  there  is  of  it 
they  can't  do,"  he  said  to  Joe  Aarons  when  the  perform- 
ance drew  flatly  to  its  conclusion. 

But  his  eye  was  upon  Sally,  led  there,  perhaps,  more 
through  her  extraordinary  incompetence  than  any  other 
quality.  And,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  Sally,  hers  had  followed 
Johnny  Doone,  descending  his  ladder  now,  and  still 

166 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

staring  at  her.  She  laughed  up  at  him,  the  old  laugh; 
the  show  was  over,  and,  for  the  moment,  she  did  not 
seem  to  care  much  what  had  been  the  effect  of  it.  Mr. 
Aarons  was  talking  to  the  manager,  and  why  shouldn't  she 
have  a  word  with  an  old  friend  ? 

"Well,  you  are  surprised  at  seeing  me  here;  you  look 
struck  all  of  a  heap  with  it,"  she  called  out  to  Johnny. 
"I  suppose  you  thought  I  never  should  get  away  from 
Brook  Street  ?  " 

"  You  don't  dance  as  well  as  you  used."  That  was  all 
the  stupid  fellow  could  find  to  say ;  it  did  not  in  the  least 
reflect  what  he  was  feeling. 

She  laughed  again,  this  time  loudly.  Mr.  Twallin, 
from  the  front  of  the  house,  said  to  Joe  abruptly  : 

"  They  can  have  a  week,  extra  turn,  usual  arrangement. 
If  it  goes,  it  goes ;  if  not,  that's  the  end  of  it.  I  must  get 
away  now.  Monday,  eight  sharp." 

Outside,  ,Joe,  immensely  relieved,  quite  in  good  humour 
again,  spoke  seriously  to  the  girls. 

"You  didn't  do  your  best,  neither  of  you.  But  you've 
got  your  chance  all  the  same." 

Joe  had  had  a  moment  of  anxiety ;  no  one  knew  better 
than  he  how  poor  an  effect  had  been  made  with  the  song 
and  dance.  He  had  missed  that  laugh  of  Miss  Sarita 
Mainwaring's  which  had  suddenly  changed  Mr.  Twallin's 
decision  to  "  turn  the  lot  down."  Joe  thought  Mr.  Twallin 
a  cleverer  man  than  he  was,  he  thought  the  possibilities  of 
the  duet  had  been  recognized. 

The  few  next  days  were  taken  up  with  further  pre- 
paration. Sally  went  on  with  her  lessons,  and  was  fitted 
with  her  dress.  Mr.  Hyams  had  ordained  it  was  to  be  of 
green  satin,  curtailed  just  above  the  knees ;  the  petticoats 
were  also  to  be  green.  It  was  to  be  garlanded  with  wild 
flowers,  she  was  to  wear  a  large  hat  covered  with  poppies 

167 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

and  corn,  Dolly  Varden  shape,  tied  under  her  chin  with 
scarlet  ribbons,  and,  during  one  part  of  the  dance,  she  was 
to  take  it  off  and  swing  it  in  her  hand.  He  thought  the 
scarlet  ribbons  would  make  an  effect  against  the  green. 
Elfrida  was  to  be  entirely  in  scarlet.  The  simplicity  of 
the  country  and  the  sinfulness  of  the  town  were  supposed 
to  be  exemplified  by  this  colouring.  Isaac  Hyams  always 
had  his  limitations,  he  has  them  still.  He  is  never  allowed 
to  dress  his  plays;  all  Tom  Peters'  agreements  with  him 
have  this  proviso. 

Sally  told  Johnny,  from  the  first,  how  ugly  her  dress 
was,  and  how  she  hated  it.  For  Johnny  and  she  had 
met  after  the  trial  performance,  and  almost  daily  since. 
Johnny  said : 

"Then  don't  you  stick  to  it.  Say  nothing  to  nobody, 
but  order  it  different.  No  one  will  know  until  you  come 
on,  and  then  they  can't  do  nothing;  I've  heard  lots  of 
them  say  they've  done  that." 

Johnny  heard  all  about  Sally's  change  of  occupation, 
and  how  it  came  about.  Sally  heard  of  poor  Sandy  Kirk's 
death,  and  of  the  scripture  reader  who  sat  with  him,  almost 
to  the  end,  and  of  Johnny's  conversion.  But  why,  upon 
the  strength  of  it,  Johnny  should  have  left  the  docks 
to  become  a  carpenter  was  difficult  to  explain.  "  Reg'lar 
work  "  was  the  keynote  of  it.  Johnny  was  a  born  lounger, 
one  of  the  British  workmen  who  habitually  runs  his  Satur- 
day afternoons  into  Tuesday  mornings.  To  the  God-fear- 
ing employer  of  labour,  who  had  used  the  opportunity  of 
poor  Sandy's  death-bed  to  bring  his  room-mate  to  a  late 
confirmation,  this  seemed  the  point  at  which  to  aim. 

"  Anyhow,  it  came  about,  here  I  be,  and  I'm  glad  of  it. 
I've  always  been  fond  of  you,  Sal,  always  shall  be.  I  can 
walk  home  with  you  sometimes  of  nights.  It  isn't  the  sort 
of  life  I  should  have  thought  you'd  have  chose." 

1 68 


THE    HEART  OF   A  CHILD 

"  Well !  I  didn't  so  much  as  choose  it.  But  now  I'm 
in  it,  I'd  like  to  get  on." 

"You  ain't  walking  out  with  that  Peastone  fellow 
still  ?  " 

"  Not  me.     He  said  it  wasn't  respectable." 

"  Come  to  that,  neither's  the  dressmaking.  You  recollect 
Emmy  Powers.  .  .  ." 

"  It  isn't  the  life,  it's  the  people  as  leads  it,"  she  said 
sententiously,  yet  ignorantly.  She  knew  all  about  Emmy 
Powers,  and  the  way  Phil  Rankin  treated  her  when  he'd 
had  his  way  with  her ;  but  she  was  a  poor-spirited  thing, 
anyway.  "  I  shan't  get  into  no  more  mischief  on  the  stage 
than  off  it,"  she  said,  a  little  uncomfortable,  nevertheless. 

"I'll  look  after  you." 

"  I  can  look  after  myself." 

The  immediate  result  of  Johnny's  sympathetic  suggestion 
was  that  Sally  went  behind  Isaac  Hyams'  instructions, 
aud  ordered  white  ribbons  for  the  hat,  pale  cornflowers 
and  daisies  instead  of  poppies.  The  green,  too,  to  which 
she  persuaded  the  costumier,  instead  of  being  crude,  as 
Isaac  had  visualized  it,  was  almost  white,  so  pale  and  vague 
was  the  colour  in  it. 

On  the  first  night  of  Sally's  and  Elfrida's  appearance 
at  the  music-hall,  Joe  Aarons  was  in  the  stalls,  and  Isaac 
was  in  the  circle,  Job  Macher  in  the  gallery,  and  Johnny 
Doone  at  the  back.  "  Extra  turn "  was  on  the  board, 
"The  Mainwaring  Sisters  (first  appearance  in  London)" 
was  on  the  programme. 

Mr.  Twallin,  in  the  wings,  gave  Sally  an  approving  nod : 

"  Pretty  gal  ?  "  he  said  to  the  dresser. 

"Well,  Miss  Mainwaring,  and  how  are  you  feeling  to- 
night ?  Nervous,  eh  ?  This  really  is  your  first  appearance, 
isn't  it  ?  There's  the  band  striking  up  ;  you've  got  a  good 
house.  Smile  at  them  when  you  go  on." 

169 


THE   HEART   OF   A  CHILD 

She  smiled  at  him,  instead,  and  he  noted  the  dimples  *Q 
her  cheek. 

"It's  my  dress  I'm  thinking  of,"  she  said  simply. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  it  ?  " 

He  eyed  her  more  closely.  "  It's  very  good.  The  skirt 
is  too  long,  or  Miss  Elfrida's  is  too  short ;  they  ought  both 
to  have  been  the  same.  But  never  mind  about  that  now. 
Have  you  seen  the  house  ?  " 

He  showed  it  to  her  through  an  aperture  in  the  slip. 
But  it  was  only  a  smoke  cloud  she  saw,  with  a  sea  of 
colourless  faces  beyond.  She  could  distinguish  nobody. 

"  I'm  not  a  bit  frightened,"  she  said  nervously. 

To-night  Isaac  Hyams  got  the  exact  effect  he  had 
planned.  Elfrida,  primed  with  drink,  in  her  scarlet 
frock,  was  vulgar,  wicked,  and  provocative.  Her  hair 
was  so  very  yellow,  and  her  hat  was  so  very  elaborate, 
that  the  pink  in  her  cheeks  and  the  scarlet  in  her  lips  were 
essential,  behind  the  footlights,  in  bringing  out  the  fact 
that  she  had  any  features  at  all. 

Sally  had  been  fortunate  in  her  dresser.  She,  her  arms, 
her  cheeks,  and  her  lips,  were  all  pale  together;  her  red 
hair  hung  long  past  her  waist,  in  two  heavy  plaits  tied 
with  white  ribbon.  She  moved,  she  looked,  she  sang, 
she  danced,  with  grace  and  unconscious  charm.  She  was 
a  complete  foil  to  Elfrida ;  the  amateurishness  of  the  one 
accentuating  the  stale  professionalism  of  the  other.  They 
had  quite  a  little  success,  and  were  called  before  the 
curtain.  That  was  the  moment  Sally  saw  Job  Macher 
in  the  gallery,  and,  of  course,  it  was  at  him  she  smiled  and 
nodded.  But  that  little  smile  and  nod  did  her  more 
good  than  her  performance.  Its  spontaneity  warmed  the 
hearts  of  several  gallery  boys,  who  took  it  for  themselves, 
and  they  gave  her  a  fresh  and  encouraging  salvo.  Alto- 
gether everybody  was  pleased. 

170 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"It  will  go  better  by  the  end  of  the  week,"  Joe  said 
to  them,  afterwards.  He  was  quite  confident  now.  He 
spoke  particularly  to  Sally.  "You'll  get  the  size  of  the 
hall  better,  and  let  yourself  go  to  it.  They  couldn't  hear 
you  upstairs  to-night.  You'll  have  to  sing  out,  and  dance 
out  —  then  you'll  do." 

And  he  was  right.  Each  evening  was  better  than  the 
last.  They  were  quickly  promoted  from  the  first  "  extra  " 
turn  to  the  last.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  performance, 
the  house  was  singing  the  refrain  for  them.  Sally  had 
caught  on,  she  was  already  a  favourite,  her  smile  was  waited 
for,  her  laughter  encouraged.  She  was  a  natural  dancer, 
and  grew  more  assured  and  gayer  every  evening.  Her 
small  voice  was  always  right  in  the  centre  of  the  note,  and 
it  had  its  own  charm ;  a  piping  birdlike  simplicity  was  in 
it.  It  carolled  rather  than  sang,  with  lapses  into  utter  for- 
getfulness,  whispers,  and  strange  breaks.  Sally's  memory 
and  education  were  at  fault,  but  her  audience  thought  it 
was  all  part  of  the  performance.  Within  a  week  the  duet 
went  with  a  swing,  and  people  were  crowding  into  the  Gre- 
cian to  hear  it.  Sally  even  achieved  the  distinction  of 
being  imitated,  first  at  another  hall,  then  here,  in  the  very 
place  of  her  triumph,  by  that  eminent  caricaturist,  Mr.  Cis 
Whigham.  He  made  the  most  effective  breaks  and  hoarse- 
ness, he  opened  ingenuous  eyes,  and  played  the  wondering 
child,  then  he  too  broke  into  dazzling  smiles  and  rippling 
laughter,  and  got  his  roars  of  applause,  as  the  cleverness 
of  the  impersonation  was  realized. 

Sally  was  hurt  about  it  at  first,  and  Johnny  offered 
to  punch  his  head.  But  Joe  told  her  it  was  doing  her 
good,  so  did  Mr.  Twallin,  and  Job  Macher ;  they  agreed 
it  was  bound  to  do  her  good.  So  Sally  tried  not  to  mind. 
She  also  tried  to  alter  her  methods,  to  avoid  the  manner- 
isms he  imitated,  but  without  conspicuous  success. 

171 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

The  engagement  had  been  a  tentative  one.  At  the  end 
of  the  time,  Mr.  Twallin  offered  them  fifteen  pounds  a 
week,  and  a  six  weeks'  agreement.  But  Joe  refused  the 
offer.  He  struck  out  for  twenty  pounds,  and  got  it.  He 
might  have  obtained  even  more,  but  he  knew  to  a  penny 
what  the  hall  held,  and  as  he  was  always  doing  business 
with  Mr.  Twallin,  he  did  not  want  to  kill  the  golden  goose. 
He  would  let  the  girls  sign  on  for  a  month  only ;  he  was 
getting  a  swelled  head  over  Sally. 

"  There's  thousands  in  her,"  he  told  Isaac,  confidentially ; 
"  it's  not  many  men  that  would  have  picked  her  out  on  the 
Parade  at  Brighton." 

"  Much  good  you'd  have  done  without  my  song,"  retorted 
his  cousin. 

The  first  week  that  Sally  got  her  three  pounds  was  a 
landmark  to  her.  It  seemed  wealth,  it  was  quite  out  of 
proportion  with  anything  she  had  previously  earned.  She 
was  still  sharing  a  room  with  Elfrida,  although  they  were 
not  congenial  companions.  They  paid  six-and-six  for  the 
room.  They  had  their  meals  together,  and  the  whole  ex- 
penses they  shared  came  to  something  less  than  a  pound. 

At  last  Sally  would  be  able  to  put  by  something.  Miss 
Kugeley  had  always  been  urging  it,  but  until  now  Sally 
had  never  had  more  than  sixteen  shillings  a  week,  and  she 
had  found  it  difficult  to  live  and  dress  out  of  that,  almost 
impossible  to  save.  The  second  week,  Joe,  in  high  good 
humour,  said  to  her : 

"Now,  what  would  you  do  with  a  five-pound  note  if  I 
gave  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Buy  some  clothes,"  she  said  promptly. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  kiss  for  it  ?  You  owe  me  one  for 
all  I've  done  for  you." 

Sally  was  attacked  on  the  most  vulnerable  side  of  her 
nature,  her  sense  of  gratitude.  She  looked  at  the  bald- 

172 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

headed,  beaky  Jew.  It  was  at  his  office,  where  she  had 
called,  as  arranged,  for  her  salary.  It  was  more  than 
likely  she  would  have  said  yes,  and  Joe  Aarons  had  the 
look  of  a  man  who  had  already  received  the  boon,  so 
shiny  and  complacent  and  beaming  was  he,  when  the  door 
opened  abruptly  to  admit  Mr.  Edgar  Levi.  Mr.  Edgar  Levi 
was  Tom  Peters'  henchman.  This  was  business,  and  might 
be  important  business.  Sally  was  dismissed  with  a  nod : 

"All  right,  my  dear,  that  must  wait"  —  this  with  a 
wink  that  evoked  Sally's  light  merriment.  "Here's  the 
money,  anyway.  I'll  come  round  soon  and  see  how  you've 
spent  it." 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  said  Edgar  Levi,  almost  before  the  door 
had  closed.  "  I  haven't  seen  her  before,  have  I  ? "  He 
was  as  quick-witted  as  his  co-religionist. 

"Something  new,  my  boy,  something  new,"  answered 
Joe  in  a  voice  of  triumph.  "  Tom  Peters  hasn't  got  all 
the  talent  in  London.  That  girl  is  going  to  beat  the  band. 
You  mark  my  words,  she's  another  Letty  Lind." 

"  Dances  ?  " 

"Like  a  bird." 

"  Where's  she  on  ?  " 

"  She  is  doing  a  turn  at  the  Grecian  until  I  fix  her  up 
better." 

"  Not  the  Mainwaring  Sisters  ?  " 

It  was  Edgar  Levi's  business  to  know  everything  that 
went  on  in  the  world  of  entertainment,  and  he  did  his 
business  thoroughly.  No  success  escaped  him.  But  the 
Grecian  was  a  strange  place  to  look  for  talent. 

"  That's  the  ticket,  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring,  who's  draw- 
ing all  London  to  the  East  End." 

"Oh,  all  London  —  that's  good  !  You  mean  she's  having 
a  success  with  the  Commercial  Road.  She  is  singing  ( The 
Tutti  Frutti  Girls,'  isn't  she  ?  What  time  is  it  on  ?  " 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Ten.     It's  the  turn." 

"Well,  you  needn't  be  so  proud  about  it.  You  don't 
sing  it." 

After  a  few  amenities,  Mr.  Levi  unfolded  the  object  of 
his  visit,  which  did  not  happen  to  concern  Sally,  so  may 
remain  unrecorded.  But,  after  the  necessary  amount  of 
bargaining  had  been  gone  through,  and  Edgar  Levi  was 
at  the  door,  he  said,  condescendingly  : 

"I'll  come  and  hear  your  flier  to-night.  You'd  better 
bring  her  to  supper  at  the  Roman's.  She's  not  a  bad-looking 
little  lot.  What  will  you  do  for  me  if  I  bring  Tom  too  ?  " 

"  It's  his  loss  if  he  doesn't  hear  'em  soon.  They  won't 
go  begging." 

"  Well,  bring  her  to  supper." 

"  There's  two  of  them,"  Joe  said. 

"The  more  the  merrier.  Tom  may  have  Muriel  with 
him,  she's  out  of  the  bill.  I'll  tell  Fritz  to  keep  a  table 
for  six,  upstairs.  The  Grecian,  you  said  ?  Ten  o'clock  ?  " 

This  was  important.  Tom  Peters  was  Joe  Aarons' 
objective  for  Sally  from  the  very  first.  That  three  pounds 
a  week  agreement  was  made  in  view  of  just  such  a  possi- 
bility. Fortunately,  Sally  was  still  in  the  outer  office. 
Elfrida  had  not  yet  been  paid,  and  Sally  was  waiting  with 
her;  impatiently  waiting,  for  she  wanted  to  be  spending 
her  five-pound  note. 

Joe  Aarons  called  them  in  after  Edgar  Levi  had  gone, 
and  talked  to  them  seriously. 

"I'm  going  to  take  you  two  girls  out  to  supper  after 
the  show  to-night,  so  you  make  yourselves  look  very  smart. 
And  mind,  you're  to  do  your  very  best  performance  ;  there's 
no  saying  who  may  be  in  the  house." 

He  added  further  instructions,  impressing  upon  them  the 
importance  of  the  evening.  But  it  was  Elfrida  who  ex- 
plained the  situation. 

'74 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"He's  got  some  West  End  manager  to  come  down;  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  it  isn't  Tom  Peters ;  you  see  if  I'm  not 
right!  It's  quite  time  he  did  take  us  out  to  supper;  you 
bet  he's  coining  money  over  us.  I  told  you  you  were  a  fool 
to  sign  that  agreement.  He'll  have  to  give  me  more,  or  I 
shan't  go  on." 

But  incidentally  it  may  be  related  that,  when,  later  on, 
she  brought  her  claims  forward  to  Joe  Aarons,  his  reply 
was  terse : 

"  Don't  you  make  a  damn  fool  of  yourself,  my  dear.  It 
isn't  you  they  are  mimicking,  is  it  ?  Haven't  you  tumbled 
to  that  ?  I  can  replace  you  in  ten  seconds ;  it  isn't  you 
they're  running  after.  You  be  glad  I  don't  want  any  one 
better  as  a  foil  to  Miss  Sally,  and  don't  talk  to  me  about  a 
rise.  Why  don't  you  find  some  one  to  look  after  you? 
That's  your  line,  you  know.  Harry  Gordon  isn't  the  only 
fish  in  the  sea.  Good-bye.  Don't  run  away  with  the  idea 
you're  underpaid.  You're  overpaid." 

Sally,  with  eight  pounds  in  her  pocket,  with  Joe  Aarons' 
instructions  impressed  upon  her,  that  she]  must  look  her 
best  this  evening,  wanted  sympathy  and  help.  Elfrida  was 
useless,  she  was  neither  sympathetic  nor  helpful  at  any 
time. 

Sally  went  mentally  over  her  list  of  friends.  Johnny 
was  always  the  most  understanding,  but  he  was  difficult  to 
get  at.  However,  fortune  favoured  her,  for  she  met  him 
in  the  Strand,  in  his  workman's  clothes,  carrying  a  tool 
basket.  Elfrida  was  disgusted  with  her  for  stopping  to 
speak  to  him : 

"  I  shall  go  on  if  you  do.  I  can't  be  seen  talking  to  a 
working  man." 

"  I  want  to  ask  him  something." 

Prosperity  had  no  effect  on  Sally's  simplicity ;  she  ran 
after  Johnny,  and  called  to  him. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

«  Hello,  Sal,  that  you  ?  " 

"How  fast  you  walk.  Stop  a  bit,  I  want  to  ask  you 
something." 

It  all  tumbled  out  at  once. 

"  I  am  going  to  supper  with  Mr.  Aarons  to-night.  There 
is  a  West  End  manager  coming  to  see  us,  he  told  me  I  was 
to  look  very  nice,  and  I've  only  got  ..." 

Johnny  had  been  long  enough  in  the  theatrical  world  to 
know  the  importance  of  the  announcement.  He  agreed  with 
Sally  that  she  must  look  her  best. 

"  Not  but  what  you  always  look  better  than  most.  All 
the  fellows  say  so,  I  stand  about  and  listen.  You're  a  real 
success,  Sal,  a  tip-topper." 

But  Sally  distrusted  herself,  her  taste,  her  talent.  And 
eight  pounds  seemed  quite  a  fortune ;  she  did  not  mind 
if  she  spent  the  whole  of  it,  she  was  in  a  reckless  mood. 
A  brilliant  idea  struck  her,  and  set  her  heart  beating,  her 
cheeks  flushing.  It  struck  Johnny  Doone  at  the  same  time, 
and  he  voiced  it. 

"  Why  don't  you  see  if  that  fellow  in  Brook  Street  is 
back  ?  You  thought  such  a  lot  of  him." 

"Mr.  Perry?"  She  looked  at  Johnny.  "Might  I? 
Could  I,  do  you  think  I  could  ask  him  ?  " 

Johnny  was  of  the  opinion  that  she  could  do  what  she 
liked,  now,  or  at  any  time.  But  then,  Johnny  had  never 
been  impressed  by  anybody  except  Sally,  and,  temporarily, 
the  scripture  reader. 

Sally  hung  about  outside  the  shop  in  Brook  Street  after 
she  left  Johnny.  She  had  taken  the  Tube  to  the  West  End, 
and  all  the  short  time  between  the  stations,  and  all  the  long 
time,  waiting  for  the  lift  to  ascend,  she  was  framing  what 
she  would  say  to  Mr.  Perry.  Nearly  an  hour  she  spent, 
walking  up  and  down  Brook  Street,  lacking  courage  to  say 
it.  It  was  only  when  she  had  persuaded  herself  that  it  was 

176 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

more  than  likely  that  he  wasn't  back  that  she  ventured  in. 
Miss  Baines  might  help  her,  she  was  always  kind. 

But  Mr.  Perry  was  back,  looking  ill,  having  grown  thin, 
and,  for  the  moment,  a  little  less  assertive  than  before. 
He  had  been  back  only  two  days,  yet  it  was  wonderful 
how  quickly  he  was  gathering  together  the  threads  of 
the  business.  He  had  missed  Miss  Snape,  and  asked  for 
her,  expressing  surprise  when  Miss  Baines  did  not  know 
what  had  become  of  her.  He  did  not  seem  to  think  it 
anything  out  of  the  way  when  she  came  in. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  Miss  Snape.  I've  been  asking  for 
you.  Why  did  you  run  away  ?  You  haven't  done  any 
better,  I  suppose.  I've  got  some  models  coming  from  Paris. 
Miss  Baines,  where  is  that  grey  delaine  ?  Let  Miss  Snape 
put  it  on,  please,  and  the  black  voile.  ..." 

It  was  all  as  it  had  been.  Sally  stood  transfixed,  ready 
to  take  off  her  dress  and  try  on  the  fine  clothes;  she  re- 
sponded immediately  to  the  old  spell  and  influence.  It  was 
Miss  Baines  who  roused  her.  The  clothes  had  only  come 
from  Paris  this  morning,  they  were  not  yet  unpacked. 

"  Have  you  come  back  to  us  ?  "  she  asked  Sally.  "  I 
must  see  Madame  Violetta;  she  was  very  vexed  at  your 
going  so  abruptly;  so  was  Lady  Dorothea,  wasting  the 
premium  and  everything.  .  .  ." 

"  I've  not  come  back  to  stay,"  Sally  stammered  out.  "  I 
wanted  to  ask  you,  to  ask  Mr.  Perry,  to  —  to  help  me." 

Miss  Baines  eyed  her  curiously.  Sally  looked  well-fed 
and  happy,  her  eyes  were  shining,  her  hair  was  glossy  and 
well-kept;  but  the  colour  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks, 
evidently  her  errand  made  her  shy. 

"What  is  it,  child?  "  Miss  Baines  said,  not  unkindly; 
Mr.  Perry  was  by  her  side  listening  for  the  answer. 

"I've  not  come  to  be  taken  back.  I'm  on  the  stage 
now." 

N  177 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"On  the  stage!"  ejaculated  Miss  Baines. 

"  And  to-night  I'm  going  to  supper  with  Mr.  Aarons,  and 
Mr.  Peters  may  be  coming  to  see  me  act,  and  .  .  ."  here 
her  voice  quivered, "  I've  nothing  to  wear,  nothing !  I've  got 
eight  pounds ;  I'm  getting  a  good  salary,  I  thought  perhaps 
you'd  help  me."  She  got  all  this  out  at  once,  breath- 
lessly. 

Miss  Baines  asked  details,  and  plied  Sally  with  ques- 
tions. Mr.  Perry's  whole  interest  was  in  the  clothes.  He 
eyed  Sally's  old  black  merino  with  the  old  disfavour. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  sup  ?  " 

Sally  did  not  know. 

Mr.  Perry,  calling  her  "  child "  impatiently,  told  her 
everything  hinged  upon  that.  If  it  was  the  Carlton  or  the 
Savoy,  she  would  want  evening  dress,  opera  cloak,  every- 
thing. But,  if  it  were  to  Gatti's  or  Frascati's  or  one  of 
the  Strand  restaurants,  it  would  have  to  be  walking  dress, 
it  was  only  a  question  of  something  becoming. 

"Bring  down  that  toque,  with  the  apple  blossoms, 
please,"  he  shouted,  in  the  middle  of  the  questioning,  quite 
in  the  old  manner. 

Sally  told  him  she  had  once  before  been  out  with  Mr. 
Aarons,  and  he  had  taken  her  to  Frascati's.  She  thought 
he  had  said  something  about  the  Roman's,  for  to-night. 
Mr.  Perry  finally  decided  for  her  that  it  was  most  probable 
Romano's  would  be  her  destination.  That  was  after  he  had 
heard  the  details  which  had  been  supplied  to  Miss  Baines 
already,  when  he  learned  she  was  appearing  at  the  Grecian 
music-hall,  and  her  stage  name  was  Sarita  Mainwaring,  and 
Tom  Peters  was  going  to  see  her  dance.  He  looked  at  her 
now  with  new  interest.  She  realized  this,  and  her  eyes  and 
smiles  grew  happier. 

He  tried  Sally  with  dress  after  dress,  as  soon  as  the  models 
had  been  unpacked.  He  tempted  her  with  one  exquisite 

178 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

confection  after  another.  Again  the  greed  and  longing 
rose  in  |her  heart.  She  loved  herself  in  these  beautiful 
rich,  soft-lined  things  ;  she  wanted  them  all. 

"  If  Tom  Peters  takes  a  fancy  to  you,  you'll  be  able  to 
have  all  you  want,  Miss  Snape,"  he  said  cheerfully,  loung- 
ing against  the  door,  surveying  her  in  a  marvel  of  pink 
cr$pe  de  Chine  and  mauve  pansies.  Mr.  Perry  never  stood 
upright,  with  legs  together  and  shoulders  straight;  he  stood 
always  like  a  cab-horse,  in  a  broken-down  way,  as  if  weak 
under  his  size,  now  on  one  leg,  now  on  another.  Presently 
he  sat  down,  and  followed  the  proceedings  from  the  velvet 
fauteuil. 

He  finally  decided  that  Miss  Snape  was  to  have  the 
loan  of  a  black  silk  dress,  the  entire  top  of  which  was  of 
real  white  lace,  of  exquisite  quality.  The  corselet  bodice 
defined  her  rounded  waist,  the  shoulder-straps  were  em- 
broidered, and  the  colours  of  the  embroidery  were  repeated 
in  the  flowers  of  her  hat.  Clad  in  this,  with  the  hat  in 
position,  the  lace  dexterously  pulled  out  and  arranged  by 
Mr.  Perry,  there  was  no  doubt  Sally  looked  radiant. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Perry !  May  I  really,  can  I  really  wear  all 
these  ?  Oh !  aren't  they  wonderful,  Miss  Baines  ?  " 

Her  eyes  demanded  admiration,  and  pleaded  for  it.  Mr. 
Perry  was  artist  enough  to  recognize  the  entire  success  of 
the  toilette.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  to  have  forgotten 
that  Sally  so  short  a  time  ago  had  been  merely  an  assistant 
in  the  shop,  and  now  was  only  a  beginner  at  a  cheap  music- 
hall.  Mr.  Perry  decided  that  Tom  Peters  should  see  her 
just  like  this.  The  model  fitted  her,  because,  of  course, 
the  model  had  been  made  for  her.  He  sent  for  a  cape,  all 
lace  and  ermine,  and  threw  it  round  her,  then  surveyed 
her  again. 

"There,  that's  the  way  you  are  to  go  to-night.  We'll 
lend  you  these,  won't  we,  Miss  Baines  ?  You  bring  them 

179 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

back,  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  And  mind  you  take 
care  of  them.  Take  them  off  now.  Miss  Baines,  we  must 
have  a  little  embroidery  added  where  the  straps  meet  the 
corselet,  and  .  .  ." 

Here  followed  one  or  two  more  inspirations.  Sally  might 
wear  the  get-up  just  as  it  was,  but  he  saw  his  way  to  im- 
provements when  it  should  be  returned. 

Sally  got  out  a  timid  word  about  her  eight  pounds. 

"  You've  got  on  a  sixty-guinea  dress,  and  an  eight-guinea 
hat;  that  cape  isn't  priced  yet.  A  hundred  a  week  is 
your  salary;  he'll  know  you  can't  dress  like  that  under 
the  figure.  Don't  you  be  foolish  with  him,  you  stand  out 
for  your  price.  And  mind  you  don't  go  anywhere  else 
for  your  clothes,"  he  said  laughingly,  before  he  went  out 
to  lunch. 

She  was  in  a  whirl  of  excitement  over  his  words,  over  his 
new  interest.  Miss  Baines  gave  a  word  of  warning,  almost 
womanly ;  it  was  only  her  loyalty  to  Mr.  Perry  prevented 
her  saying  more : 

"  You  look  before  you  leap ;  it  isn't  all  plain  sailing. 
Haven't  you  got  any  one  belonging  to  you  ?  I  should 
think  twice  before  I  went  to  supper  with  Mr.  Peters." 

"There's  ever  so  many  others  going.  Did  you  hear 
Mr.  Perry  saying  I  wasn't  to  dress  from  anywhere  but 
here?" 

"  Mr.  Perry  gets  carried  away." 

"  He  really  does  think  I'll  get  on." 

Miss  Baines  sighed. 

"Well,  I  suppose  you'll  go  your  own  way!"  she 
said. 

Later  on  in  the  day  Mr.  Perry  boasted  to  Miss 
Baines : 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  that  girl  would  get  on?  Tom  Peters 
won't  grudge  her  her  clothes,  and  she'll  pay  for  dressing. 

180 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Don't  let  her  go  anywhere  else.  I'll  see  her  myself  when 
she  comes  in  to-morrow.  If  I'd  had  time  I'd  have  given 
her  something  simpler.  I  shall  look  in  at  the  Grecian 
to-night,  and  see  how  she  does." 


181 


CHAPTER  X 

PETEKS  was  large  and  dark  and  ponderous. 

1  His  black  hair  had  a  curious  wiry  kink,  he  grew  no 
beard,  his  lips  were  almost  negroid.  His  manner  was 
heavy  and  sleepy,  and  the  first  impression  he  conveyed 
was  one  of  amiable  stupidity.  Yet  his  astuteness,  not 
only  in  his  business,  but  in  his  ventures  on  the  green 
cloth,  or  at  any  game  of  chance,  was  proverbial.  The 
deadliest  sharper  eventually  gave  him  best,  and  _  neither 
Jews  nor  Americans  had  any  advantage  over  him  at  poker, 
bridge,  or  ecarte.  He  had  played  baccarat  with  adventurers 
at  foreign  gambling-hells,  and  emerged  a  winner.  He  had 
hosts  of  acquaintances,  but  very  few  intimates.  These  few 
intimates  woiild  admiringly  boast  that  he  never  "  put  them 
on  a  good  thing."  That  no  one  knew  from  whence  he 
sprung,  who  were  his  belongings,  which  was  his  race  or 
country,  made  his  personality  the  more  remarkable.  He 
spoke  English  like  an  Englishman,  but  the  palms  of  his 
hands  were  unusually  dark,  and  the  shape  of  his  head  sug- 
gested a  turban. 

His  business  was  that  of  theatrical  entrepreneur.  It  was 
lucrative  because  his  theatres  provided  meeting  houses  for 
thejeunesse  dorte  of  the  Metropolis  and  the  nascent  beau- 
ties of  the  stage.  He  was  the  doyen  of  the  species  of 
entertainment  known  as  musical  comedy.  At  his  own,  and 
the  entertainment's  zenith,  the  Colonies,  Europe,  and  the 
English  provinces  were  ransacked  for  young  and  pretty 
girls.  It  was  Tom  Peters'  department  to  exhibit  the  re- 

182 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

suits  of  the  quest  adequately,  in  becoming  or  scanty  clothes, 
going  through  any  small  performance  for  which  the  oppor- 
tunity arose.  Then  the  young  men  came  and  gazed  at 
them,  came  and  came  again. 

Tom  had  started  with  one  theatre,  but,  at  the  time  he 
introduced  Sally  Snape  he  had  four,  and  all  of  them  were 
successful.  Such  houses  always  will  be  successful,  so  long 
as  human  nature  remains  as  it  is.  Those  under  the  care 
of  Tom  Peters  were  admirably,  and  most  decorously,  con- 
ducted. 

It  was  the  women  that  drew  the  town,  as  much,  perhaps, 
as  the  comedy  or  the  music,  the  singing  or  the  acting. 
Tom  Peters,  realizing  this,  spent  himself  in  securing  the 
monopoly  of  all  the  women  whom  the  young  men  wanted 
to  see.  He  was  quick  on  the  track  of  beauty,  popularity, 
or  talent.  He  and  his  henchmen  were  specious  in  argu- 
ment, skilful  in  driving  a  bargain.  Theirs  was  the  market- 
place for  girls;  there  was  little  doubt  of  that.  Marriage 
was  not  always  the  desideratum,  but,  when  the  bait  was 
required,  it  was  pointed  out  that  more  than  one  great 
marriage  had  been  achieved  by  Tom  Peters'  brigade  of 
girls.  This,  and  dinners,  suppers,  drives,  jewellery,  were 
all  lures;  these  were  his  bonuses,  which  accounted  for 
low  salary  lists  and  an  always  large  competition  for  en- 
gagements. 

To-night  he  was  to  see  Sally  Snape  for  the  first  time. 
He  occupied  the  stage  box,  and  with  him  was  his  faithful 
satellite,  Edgar  Levi.  Joe  Aarous,  very  proud  and  im- 
portant, and  Isaac  Hyams,  with  the  plan  of  a  new  operetta 
in  his  pocket,  sat  there  with  him.  Mr.  Twallin  came  and 
went,  very  proud  of  his  guest,  very  self-important. 

But  Tom's  attention  to  all  of  them  was  perfunctory ;  he 
looked  extremely  stupid,  and  rather  bored.  Presently  the 
house  recognized  him,  he  had  bowed  his  thanks  too  often 

183 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

after  a  successful  first  night  not  to  be  recognized,  even  at 
the  Grecian.  The  gallery  boys  made  quite  a  demonstration 
in  his  honour,  cat-calling,  and,  in  the  intervals  between  the 
numbers,  singing  the  chorus  of  the  " Hoo-bally-roo  Boys" 
from  that  brilliant  play,  "  The  Boys  from  Burton." 

Mr.  Peters  acknowledged  their  recognition  with  his  good- 
humoured  sleepy  smile.  Then  suddenly  Joe  Aarons  got 
excited,  and  whispered: 

"  Here  she  is,  Mr.  Peters ;  here  she  comes.  Number  ten 
is  her." 

Number  ten  it  was,  and  the  house  seemed  to  hush  itself 
in  expectation.  The  conductor  struck  the  desk  sharply 
with  his  baton;  the  curtain  was  up,  the  limelight  turned 
on,  and  Elfrida  Carthew  bounded  on  the  stage,  in  her  scar- 
let frock  and  yellow  hair,  and  with  her  shrill  voice,  started 
the  opening  verse  of  the  "  Tutti  Frutti  Girls." 

It  was  only  an  instant,  but  in  that  instant  Tom  Peters 
began  to  yawn.  She  was  such  a  familiar  figure  to  him; 
her  voice,  style,  and  manner  were  all  of  the  traditional, 
stale,  music-hall  variety.  Daily  he  rejected  many  dozens 
of  her  type.  Already  he  was  saying  that  Edgar  was  a  fool 
to  drag  him  here,  Joe  Aarons  a  fool  to  imagine  .  .  . 

His  yawn  and  his  comment  had  no  climax,  they  remained 
embryonic,  half-finished  things. 

Sally  had  even  less  voice  than  usual  to-night.  She  was 
shockingly  nervous  and  self-conscious  and  amateurish.  But 
Tom  Peters  never  finished  his  yawn ;  her  grace  caught  him, 
her  curious  charm  held  him.  He  woke  up,  and  leaned 
forward,  listening  to  her  first  verse;  her  pauses,  lapses, 
hoarseness,  were  bewildering. 

"  She  can't  sing,"  he  grumbled. 

But  they  saw  he  never  took  his  eyes  from  her.  Sally 
was  hardly  made  up  at  all,  she  was  very  pale,  and  before 
the  end  of  her  first  verse  her  voice  had  died  away  almost 

184 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

completely.  She  cast  a  look  of  appeal  at  the  house,  quite 
tremulous;  and  she  shook  her  head.  Then  it  was  that 
the  gallery  boys  proved  themselves.  Quickly  perceptive, 
they  seemed  to  realize,  all  at  once,  the  connection  between 
Tom  Peters,  sitting  white-waistcoated  and  prominent  in  the 
front  of  Box  A,  and  their  favourite's  sudden  loss  of  voice. 
They  threw  themselves  gallantly  into  the  breach;  they 
rose  to  her  rescue  like  men.  They  took  up  her  refrain, 
they  sang  it  through,  as  she  stood,  half  paralyzed,  with 
that  appealing  look  on  her  child  face.  They  sang  their 
encouragement;  they  knew  the  words  and  the  tune,  and 
the  band  supported  them. 

Now  she  smiled  gratefully  at  them ;  quietly,  timorously 
almost,  she  began  her  dance.  They  applauded  at  once, 
calling  her  by  name,  urging  her  on.  Gradually  she  caught 
fire  from  their  sympathy,  her  nervous  smile  turned  to 
happy  laughter,  her  dance  grew  in  quickness,  spontaneity, 
gaiety.  She  forgot  Tom  Peters,  Joe  Aarons'  instructions, 
and  all  her  fears.  She  danced  as  she  had  danced  to  the 
organ  in  her  alley,  revelling  in  the  music  and  the  move- 
ment. When  she  had  finished,  it  was  a  triumphant  look 
she  threw  to  Joe  Aarons  in  the  box  with  the  great  Mr. 
Peters;  there  was  a  touch  of  the  gamin  in  it.  She  knew 
she  had  done  well.  She  would  not  do  any  more  ;  she  shook 
her  head  at  the  gallery  when  they  encored  her,  but  she  smiled 
them  her  thanks,  she  made  them  know  she  was  grateful. 

Edgar  Levi  clapped  his  hands  enthusiastically  again  and 
again. 

"  She's  got  'em,"  he  said.  "  She's  got  'em.  She's  a  bally 
wonder.  She  can't  sing  for  nuts,  and  there's  nothing  extra 
about  her  dancing,  but  just  listen  to  them;  a  wonder,  I  call  her." 

He  had  an  emotional,  generous  temperament;  he  was 
altogether  different  from  his  master. 

Tom  neither  applauded,  nor  spoke  of  the  performance. 

185 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

The  others  were  disappointed ;  but  Edgar  knew  it  was  all 
right,  when  he  said,  in  that  incongruous,  soft  voice  of  his, 
almost  plaintively : 

"You  might  telephone  to  Jupe,  Edgar,  that  I'm  too 
tired  to  go  out  to-night.  How  can  he  expect  me  to  play 
bridge  with  so  much  on  my  mind  ?  It's  so  inconsiderate." 

Edgar  would  not  for  worlds  have  reminded  him  that 
it  was  he  who  had  arranged  the  bridge  party  at  Mr.  Jupe's. 
Tom  said  a  little  more  to  Edgar,  about  to-morrow's  re- 
hearsal. It  was  called  for  two  new  speeches,  in  what  was 
advertised  as  "  a  second  edition  of  The  Boys  from  Burton." 
He  spoke  as  if  those  two  sentences  were  the  only  inter- 
est he  had  in  the  world.  Joe  Aarons  was  depressed,  but 
Edgar  was  beaming ;  he  knew  Tom's  ways. 

Number  eleven  was  on  now.  It  was  an  acrobatic  act. 
Tom  talked  to  Mr.  Twallin  about  that,  and  complimented 
him  on  the  mechanism. 

.  "  What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Mainwaring  ?  "  Mr.  Twallin 
was  indiscreet  enough  to  ask. 

Tom's  brow  contracted ;  he  looked  peevish,  all  at  once. 

"  She's  got  no  voice,"  he  complained,  "no  voice  at  all." 

"  Pretty  ?  " 

"Is  she?" 

"Well,  the  boys  like  her.  I'm  rather  glad  you  don't. 
Joe  has  put  her  price  up  twice,  haven't  you,  Joe  ? " 
Mr.  Twallin  said  indifferently.  He  had  nothing  to  gain  by 
Tom's  approval.  He  was  just  as  gratified  if  his  acrobats 
pleased  the  great  man. 

By  this  time  Joe  was  in  an  agony  of  apprehension  and 
disappointment.  Tom  Peters  was  such  a  good  judge. 
What  if  Sally's  success  proved  only  a  flash  in  the  pan  ? 
The  money  had  been  spent  on  Sally's  education,  and  the 
agreements  procured,  all  with  the  view  to  Tom  Peters. 
Now  he  said  she  couldn't  sing ! 

1 86 


THE   HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

"But  she  can  dance,"  he  urged,  "you  must  say  she  can 
dance.  And  look  at  her  figure,  and  the  way  she  moves." 

Tom  sat  stolid,  as  if  he  heard  nothing.  The  acrobats 
seemed  to  entertain  him,  and  he  did  not  begin  to  yawn 
again  until  a  throaty  baritone  struck  up  a  patriotic  song 
.about  the  "Empire  over  the  Seas." 

"  Haven't  we  had  enough  of  this  ?  "  he  asked  Edgar  then. 

"  You  might  let  Mr.  Aarons  bring  the  girls  to  sup  with 
us,"  Edgar  persuaded;  "we  might  as  well  see  'em  close." 

"  Which  girls  ? "  Tom  asked,  as  he  got  up.  "  What 
girls  ?  "  as  if  he  had  been  a  little  deaf. 

"  The  sisters  Mainwaring.  He's  awfully  disappointed  you 
haven't  lost  your  heart  to  Miss  Sarita.  Aren't  you,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Which  is  Miss  Sarita  ?  Not  the  one  who  shrieks  ? 
All  right,  let  her  come."  Edgar  helped  him  into  his  satin- 
lined  opera-coat. 

"  I'll  stay  and  bring  them,"  he  said  tentatively,  winking 
at  Joe. 

"No,  no,"  Tom  answered  pettishly,  like  a  spoilt  child, 
"  you  come  with  me." 

"It's  all  right,  don't  you  worry,  it's  as  right  as  rain," 
Edgar  found  the  opportunity  to  whisper  to  Joe  Aarons. 
"  Mind,  I  shall  expect  something  out  of  it,"  he  added. 

The  very  fact  of  Tom  Peters  putting  off  Jupe  told  Edgar 
he  was  taken  with  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring,  and  that  he 
had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  sup  with  Joe  Aarons  and 
the  Mainwaring  sisters.  Tom  loved  cards,  and  Jupe  was 
not  only  his  solicitor,  but  one  of  his  intimates,  yet  he  had 
thrown  him  over.  Edgar  had  no  doubt  of  the  result.  Tom 
would  give  Miss  Sarita  an  engagement ;  a  percentage  of  the 
amount  of  her  salary  would  go  into  his  own  pocket.  Joe 
Aarons  would  make  his  profit  on  some  earlier  agreement. 

It  was  no  one's  business  to  protect  Sally's  interests. 

In  the  entrance  hall  at  Eomano's  the  "  Mainwaring 

187 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Sisters  "  made  quite  a  sensation.  Sally's  gift  for  putting 
on  her  clothes  had  met  Mr.  Perry's  gift  for  selecting  them 
for  her.  Her  high  evening  dress,  and  becoming  hat,  her 
lace  and  ermine  cape,  were  fashion's  last  words.  It  was 
only  her  face  that  was  incongruous ;  it  was  pale,  and  her 
eyes  were  shy.  But  her  hair  flamed  in  the  badly  lit  en- 
trance to  the  restaurant,  its  copper  burnish  drew  all  eyes. 
She  was  not  an  habitue,  she  looked  strange  and  very  young. 
Every  man  stared,  but  no  one  spoke  to  the  two  girls  until 
Edgar  Levi  hurried  up  to  them. 

"  Miss  Main  waring  ?  "  he  asked. 

And  Elfrida  answered  for  them  both.  She  had  been 
there  before ;  she  was  disappointed  when  Edgar  said  : 

"  We're  supping  upstairs.  I've  just  been  getting  a  table. 
Tom  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  Where's  Joe  ?  Do  you 
want  to  take  anything  off  ?  " 

Sally  had  not  spoken.  He  stared  at  her,  but  all  the 
happy  familiarities  that  were  ready  to  rise  to  his  lips  were 
damped  by  her  silence.  She  made  no  movement  to  follow 
his  or  Elfrida's  lead,  for  she  had  just  seen  Lord  Kidder- 
minster! And  Kiddie,  in  the  act  of  taking  off  his  coat, 
now  saw  her.  The  flush  and  smile  that  met  his  recognition 
transformed  her. 

"  Why !  do  you  know  Kiddie  ?  "  asked  Edgar  Levi,  in 
astonishment.  It  seemed  as  if  Tom  Peters  was  already  too 
late.  But,  of  course,  if  she  knew  Kiddie,  it  explained  her 
dress.  Edgar  had  realized,  at  the  first  glance,  that  it  was 
not  explained  by  her  salary. 

"  Oh,  yes." 

Tom  came  through  the  swing  door  at  that  moment, 
with  Joe  Aarons  close  at  his  heels.  They  greeted  the 
girls,  and  Kiddie  asked  impulsively  : 

"Hullo,  Peters,  what  are  you  doing?  Sup  with  me, 
won't  you  ?  I'm  alone." 

1 88 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

"  Sorry  I  can't,  my  lord,  I'm  afraid  I'm  booked  up.  I've 
got  a  little  party  myself  upstairs.  Can't  you  join  us  ?  " 

Kiddie  signified  his  acceptance. 

"  Why  not  ?  "     But  his  eyes  never  left  Sally. 

"  Edgar,  tell  them  to  lay  another  place,"  said  Tom. 

At  supper  Sally  had  her  first  formal  introduction  to 
Lord  Kidderminster.  She  was  amused  when  she  found  out 
that  he  did  not  know  who  she  was,  that  "  Miss  Sarita 
Mainwaring "  was  not  associated  in  his  mind  with  the 
"  Sally  Snape "  whom  his  cousin  had  run  over,  and  whom 
he  had  helped  to  apprentice  to  a  dressmaker's  business. 

Sally  chattered  it  all  out  to  him  in  the  first  five  minutes. 
She  had  never  felt  so  completely  at  home  with  anybody. 

"I  almost  thought  you  didn't  know  me  that  day  on  the 
steps  of  the  Majestic.  I  suppose  I  looked  ill  and  different 
when  I  came  to  Curzon  Street.  I  was  only  just  out  of 
the  hospital."  She  had  a  sudden  memory  and  misgiving 
of  her  Epping  Forest  clothes,  and  her  hat. 

"  Well,  you  were  limping,  you  know,"  he  said  awkwardly. 
"  You  had  a  crutch." 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say ;  his  was  never  a  ready 
wit.  He  had  wanted  to  meet  Sally  again,  ever  since  he  had 
met  her  on  the  steps  of  the  Majestic.  Even  to-night  he 
had  been  thinking  of  her,  wondering  if  he  should  meet  her. 
It  was  firmly  in  his  mind  that  his  acquaintance  with  her 
dated  from  some  theatrical  party.  He  had  searched  vainly 
for  her  in  the  choruses  of  Roma's,  the  Crystal,  the  Millen- 
nium. Now,  suddenly,  it  all  flashed  through  his  memory. 

At  first  he  had  not  wanted  to  give  the  fifty  pounds. 
Dolly  was  always  rushing  him.  Then  this  girl  had  limped 
into  the  room,  and  he  had  changed  his  mind  quickly. 
Colonel  Fellowes  had  chaffed  him  about  it  two  or  three 
days  afterwards  at  the  club.  But  the  impression  Sally  had 
made  then  was  vague  and  fleeting. 

189 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  At  the  Majestic  I  wondered  where  we  had  met.  I 
oughtn't  to  have  forgotten.  I  don't  see  such  pretty  girls 
every  day." 

She  blushed.  It  was  quite  a  remarkable  thing  to  do, 
and  it  drew  the  eyes  of  the  table  to  her. 

"  What's  he  been  saying  to  you,  Miss  Mainwaring  ? " 
Edgar  called  out,  in  one  of  his  bursts  of  tactlessness. 
"  Don't  you  let  him  say  things  to  shock  you." 

Kiddie's  disgusted  expression  and  Tom  Peters'  frown 
checked  him. 

"  A  glass  of  wine  with  you  ?  "  he  went  on  affably. 

Sally  ignored  him. 

Tom  began  to  talk  to  Sally  soon  after  that.  But  she 
remembered  his  importance,  and  all  that  Mr.  Aarons  had 
said  about  him.  Her  shyness  and  self -consciousness  came 
back  and  she  answered  him  in  monosyllables.  Yes,  she 
"  liked  her  song,"  and  she  "  loved  dancing,"  and  this  was 
her  first  engagement,  and  she  was  quite  satisfied  with  it. 

This  was  a  conversational  impasse  for  Tom.  He  had 
never  before  met  any  one,  in  the  musical  or  theatrical  pro- 
fession, who  was  quite  satisfied  with  his  or  her  engagement ! 
Edgar,  whose  sense  of  humour  was  the  only  drawback  to 
his  position,  came  to  his  master's  assistance  and  asked : 

"  Don't  you  want  to  play  Juliet  ?  " 

"  Who's  Juliet  ?  "  was  the  answer  that  nonplussed  even 
him. 

It  was  a  strange  supper,  hardly  merry.  Joe  was  full 
of  anxiety,  and  Tom  apparently  imperturbable  towards 
him.  Elfrida  was  shrill  and  flirtatious,  and,  after  a  suffi- 
ciency of  champagne,  Edgar,  to  use  his  own  vernacular, 
"  took  her  on."  It  was  not  an  edifying  sight,  the  love- 
making  of  Mr.  Edgar  Levi  and  Elfrida.  It  bored  Tom, 
and  disgusted  Lord  Kidderminster.  Kiddie  became  the 
hereditary  legislator  under  its  influence,  and  remembered 

190 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

his  distinguished  ancestry.    He  got  up  to  take  leave  of  the 
party.     Tom  rose  with  him. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  he  said  to  Lord  Kidder- 
minster. 

The  two  men  moved  nearer  the  balcony.  The  heavy 
aroma  of  food  ascended  to  them,  and  it  was  laden  with 
smoke,  dense  with  some  more  acrid  perfume.  As  their 
eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  strangely  disposed  lights,  and 
the  stranger  shadows  that  fell,  they  saw  that  all  the 
tables  were  full,  and  there  were  women  at  all  of  them, 
more  women  than  men ;  stage  women,  old  and  experienced, 
quite  young  girls,  and  grades  between  the  two ;  but  all  of 
them  garish,  flamboyant,  redolent  of  the  world  behind  the 
footlights.  There  ascended  to  their  ears  laughter,  loud, 
shrill,  artificial,  theatrical,  a  note  of  forced  gaiety.  To 
be  on  edge  and  keen,  quite  human  and  sentient,  in  face 
of  this,  meant  to  feel  pain.  That  poignant  pain  came  to 
Kiddie ;  a  strange  experience  for  him. 

"  Let's  get  out  of  this,"  he  said. 

Tom  followed  him  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  hall. 

"  You  want  to  ask  me  something  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  was 
being  helped  into  his  coat. 

"  Oh,  any  time  will  do  ;  there  is  no  hurry  about  it." 

"How  are  those  girls  going  to  get  home?"  Kiddie 
went  on  abruptly,  a  propos  of  nothing. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  was  about  that  I  wanted  to  speak 
to  you.  Do  you  want  me  to  give  her  an  engagement? 
Of  course,  when  I  went  to  see  her  to-night,  I  had  no  idea 
your  lordship  and  she  .  .  /' 

"  Don't  make  any  mistake,  I  know  nothing  of  the  girl." 

"Oh!  I  am  sorry;  it  was  only  her  get-up,  you  know, 
her  dress  ?  " 

Kiddie  paused,  his  voice  was  quite  harsh. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  her  dress  ?  " 

191 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Nothing;  it  is  very  good,  and  that  ermine  cloak!  She 
hasn't  drawn  more  than  five  pounds  a  week  at  the  Grecian, 
I  should  think,"  Tom  added  reflectively. 

Kiddie's  face  flushed. 

"You  needn't  make  any  of  your  damned  insinuations. 
Her  dress  was  simple  enough  so  far  as  I  saw,  she  hadn't  a 
scrap  of  jewellery.  Hush !  Here  they  come." 

Edgar  and  Elfrida  were  still  playing  their  ugly  game ; 
their  eyes  bright,  their  shoulders  touching,  whispering  to 
each  other.  Joe  Aarons  followed,  looking  tired  and  dis- 
appointed. He  had  been  in  business  all  day,  he  wanted 
the  rest  and  peace  of  his  Maida  Vale  home,  his  snug 
place  by  his  Miriam's  side.  And  he  was  not  sure  Edgar 
had  been  right.  Tom  Peters  had  said  nothing  to  him, 
not  a  word !  He  could  not  be  certain  the  money  he  had 
spent  on  Sally  had  been  well  laid  out.  He  seldom  specu- 
lated in  business.  It  was  very  well  to  succeed  at  an  East 
End  music-hall,  but  Tom  was  so  quick,  and  Tom  had 
said  nothing.  Joe  was  full  of  doubts  and  misgivings. 

Sally  was  looking  completely  happy;  her  eyes  shone 
in  her  pale  face.  Lord  Kidderminster  felt  that  strange 
pain  again  as  he  looked  at  her,  he  did  not  know  what  it 
meant,  but  it  impelled  him  to  her  side. 

"  Can  I  see  you  home  ?  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  He  did 
not  want  to  part  with  her  just  yet.  He  hated  Elfrida  and 
Edgar  and  all  her  entourage. 

"  I  live  with  Miss  Carthew ;  she  and  I  are  going  home 
together,"  she  answered  happily,  raising  her  candid  eyes  to 
his.  "  But  it's  very  kind  of  you.  .  .  ." 

Edgar  heard ;  it  was  wonderful  what  quick  hearing  and 
perception  he  had. 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss  Carthew  is  not  going  home  with  you. 
"  She's  coming  to  my  rooms  first,  it's  much  too  early  to  go 
home.  We're  going  to  have  a  game  of  poker  for  an 

192 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

hour;  she's  just  been  telling  me  she  loves  the  game, 
haven't  you,  Miss  Carthew  ?"  He  winked  at  her,  and  his 
wink  travelled  round  to  Tom  Peters.  "Come  on,  Tom," 
he  urged,  "  we'll  make  a  night  of  it.  We  can  get  some  of 
the  other  fellows.  .  .  ." 

Kiddie's  invitation  now  was  more  urgent. 

"  You  will  let  me  drive  you  home.  Don't  go  with  them," 
he  said  in  a  hurried  whisper. 

Sally  hesitated,  hardly  understanding,  looking  to  Elfrida 
for  guidance. 

"  Oh,  you  go  on,"  she  said  impatiently.  "  I've  got  my 
key,  I'm  going  to  have  a  bit  of  fun.  I  haven't  played 
poker  for  years." 

It  was  all  quickly  settled,  it  seemed  to  arrange  itself. 
The  swing  doors  had  revolved,  and  Sally  was  outside  the 
hot  restaurant.  The  air  came  chill,  and  she  gathered  her 
ermine  cloak  closely  round  her.  Kiddie  was  by  her  side, 
vaguely  wishing  she  were  not  so  finely  dressed.  His 
brougham  was  standing  there,  now  he  was  helping  her  in. 
It  all  seemed  very  strange.  She  had  been  in  a  carriage 
only  once  before ;  it  was  that  eventful  evening  when  Mr. 
Perry  had  driven  her  from  the  theatre.  And  she  had  not 
been  so  happy  then,  not  nearly  so  happy.  Her  clothes,  for 
instance,  were  all  right  to-night. 

Kiddie  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  pulled  it  away 
from  him. 

"  I  didn't  mean  any  harm,"  he  said,  rather  ashamed  of 
himself. 

She  laughed : 

"  Isn't  it  stupid  of  me  ?    But  I  do  hate  being  touched." 

"Not  by  any  one  who  is  fond  of  you  ?" 

"  You  haven't  had  time  to  get  fond  of  me." 

"  Haven't  I  ?  That's  all  you  know.  It  began  in 
Dolly's  drawing-room." 

o  193 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Sally's  thoughts  travelled  back. 

"It  was  good  of  you  to  pay  all  that  money  for  me," 
she  said  softly. 

Kiddie  took  her  hand  again,  encouraged  by  that  softness, 
and  her  gratitude  to  him  made  her  leave  it  there. 

"It  was  so  strange  to  me.  I  felt  so  strange  in  that 
drawing-room.  And  Lady  Dorothea  and  you  are  so 
good.  I  know  I  ought  to  have  stayed  in  Brook  Street, 
but  there  wasn't  enough  to  do ;  and  I  wanted  all  the  things 
I  tried  on,  and  all  the  things  the  other  ladies  had  on  — 
those  that  came  to  shop,  I  mean.  Sixteen  shillings  a  week 
seemed  so  little,  I  was  satisfied  with  fourteen  and  three- 
pence at  the  factory.  I  don't  know  how  it  came  about  I 
got  so  discontented.  I  think  it  was  my  holiday  that  did 
it,  Brighton  and  that  beautiful  sea.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  it 
was  ungrateful  of  me  to  leave  Brook  Street  ?  " 

But  Kiddie  still  held  her  hand  in  his ;  it  was  quite  a 
small  hand,  soft  too.  Kiddie  had  a  sort  of  ache  in  his 
heart,  one  to  which  he  was  not  used.  There  was  nothing 
provocative  about  Sally,  he  forgot  all  his  muddled  ethics : 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  ever  lived  on  fourteen 
and  threepence  a  week?" 

She  told  him  how  it  had  been  spent,  and  how  well 
it  sufficed.  The  interest  of  the  story  was  absorbing,  even 
dramatic,  when  it  came  to  the  saving  for  the  plumed  hat 
worn  at  Epping,  the  one  that  Kiddie  had  seen  her  in  at 
Curzon  Street.  He  was  so  sorry  for  her,  yet  the  story  was 
told  without  any  exaggeration,  just  as  it  all  happened. 

"I  was  quite  happy  until  I  went  to  Brook  Street.  I 
thought  I  had  never  been  happy  until  I  got  there,  but 
I  know  now.  And  Mr.  Perry  only  liked  me  because  I 
showed  things  off  well,"  she  said,  moved  to  pathos  by 
Kiddie's  sympathy,  but  knowing  nothing  so  pathetic  as 
Mr.  Perry's  want  of  interest. 

194 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

The  drive  seemed  a  short  one.  Sally  had  never  talked 
to  any  one  so  freely  before.  Lord  Kidderminster  had  a 
feeling  that  all  these  strange  things  she  told  him  were 
familiar  to  him,  that  always  he  had  known  of  this  poor 
pretty  girl,  half  starved  and  working,  whilst  he  was  living 
in  the  lap  of  luxury,  with  so  much  more  than  he  wanted. 
When  the  brougham  stopped,  it  was  to  him  as  the  awaken- 
ing from  a  dream. 

Elfrida  and  Sally  lived  in  Gooch  Place,  since  their 
engagement  at  the  Grecian.  Their  room  was  small  and 
high  up,  the  house  was  of  the  usual  lodging-house  type. 
When  Sally  got  out  of  the  brougham  Kiddie  followed  her  : 

"  Can't  I  come  in  and  talk  to  you  ?  Your  friend  won't 
be  home  for  a  long  time/' 

"  Oh,  no,  please  don't ! "  They  were  alone  in  the  grey, 
sordid  street.  The  dirty  door-step,  the  narrow  entry,  the 
close  lodging-house  air  that  filled  it  were  all  ignored. 

"  Please  let  my  hand  go.  Please  don't  want  to  come  in. 
It  was  kind  of  you  to  see  me  home.  Our  landlady  is  very 
strict ;  we're  not  allowed  visitors.  .  .  ." 

She  poured  it  all  out  breathlessly.  She  had  enjoyed  her 
evening  ;  now  she  wanted  to  be  alone  to  think  of  it. 

Lord  Kidderminster  saw  that  she  was  in  earnest. 

"  But  I  want  to  see  you  again.  When  am  I  to  see  you 
again  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Will  you  come  out  to  supper  with  me  to-morrow  night, 
if  I  come  to  the  Grecian  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes."  She  was  quite  eager  in  her  acceptance ;  it 
was  something  to  which  she  could  look  forward.  The  in- 
vitation wound  up  this  beautiful  evening  fitly.  "Do  go 
now,"  she  urged.  "  I  want  to  shut  the  door.  Mrs.  Jones 
will  hear  us  talking,  and  come  down ;  you  don't  know  how 
fussy  she  is." 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"All  right." 

But  still  he  lingered.  He  wanted  to  ask  her  for  a  kiss ; 
but  she  looked  anxious,  listening,  distraite.  His  sensations 
were  confused ;  she  had  caught  his  fancy,  he  did  not  know 
where  he  was  with  her.  He  told  himself  he  must  keep  his 
head. 

"Until  to-morrow,  then." 

"  Oh,  yes,  till  to-morrow." 

Now  she  was  alone.  She  shut  the  door  after  him,  care- 
fully and  quietly,  leaving  it  on  the  latch  for  Elfrida.  But 
the  narrow  stairs,  with  their  worn  and  shabby  carpets,  and 
the  dim  gaslight  in  the  mean  house,  were  all  transfigured  and 
golden  to  her.  To-night  she  had  learnt  something;  the 
knowledge  had  been  coming  slowly  all  this  time,  but  to- 
night it  flamed  into  reality,  into  certainty.  She  was  pretty  ; 
that  was  why.  .  .  . 

At  the  thoughts  that  thronged,  the  remembrances  she  had, 
she  blushed,  grew  hot,  uncomfortable,  and  put  them  away 
from  her.  Men  had  always  wanted  to  touch  her,  and  kiss 
her,  but  she  had  always  hated  that  sort  of  thing.  Yet  she 
grew  very  red,  all  by  herself  in  the  narrow,  ill-smelling 
passage,  when  the  door  closed  on  Kiddie.  She  thought  she 
would  not  have  minded  if  Kiddie  had  kissed  her.  And,  as 
she  ran  swiftly  upstairs,  away  from  this  thought,  she  was 
glad  she  was  pretty,  very,  very  glad. 

There  was  the  flare  from  an  irregular  gas  jet  in  the  room 
she  shared  with  Elfrida.  By  the  light  of  it  she  looked  at 
herself  in  the  fine  clothes  that  Mr.  Perry  had  lent  her. 
A  misgiving  struck  her,  the  misgiving  that  always  struck 
her  when  she  saw  herself  reflected,  and  kept  her  strangely 
humble.  Could  red  hair  and  snub  nose,  pale  face  and 
green  eyes,  be  beautiful  ?  It  was  not  her  taste,  she  admired 
nothing  she  saw  in  the  glass,  except  the  hat  and  the  ermine 
cape.  She  sighed  as  she  looked,  for  she  knew  the  hat  and 

196 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

the  cape  must  go  back  to-morrow,  and  only  the  face  and  the 
hair  would  be  left.  But  Lord  Kidderminster  had  admired 
her  unmistakably,  and  the  great  Tom  Peters  had  smiled 
at  her.  Edgar  Levi,  and  the  men  in  the  entrance  lobby, 
had  eyed  her  in  the  same  way. 

"It  isn't  the  clothes,  it  is  me,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  They  do  like  my  face ;  they  think  me  good-looking." 

She  undressed,  combing  out  her  long  thick  hair,  unplaiting 
it,  letting  it  run  through  her  fingers,  then  she  plaited  it  again, 
for  the  night,  in  one  long  thick  rope.  She  went  to  bed  as 
happy  as  a  child,  and  was  asleep  almost  before  her  head 
touched  the  pillow.  It  was  not  Sally's  way  to  think. 
It  seemed  to  her  to-night  that  she  had  been  dowered  with 
a  rich  gift,  her  gift  of  beauty.  She  cuddled  it  within  her 
arms,  slept  happily  with  it  as  a  child  with  a  new  doll. 
She  had  neither  fear  nor  misgiving.  She  was  of  the  slums, 
this  child  who  slept  on  her  hard  pillow  in  the  Gooch  Place 
attic,  with  her  hair  like  a  glory  about  her,  a  smile  on  her 
sweet  lips,  no  fear  in  her  heart,  and  no  misgivings. 

For  many  nights  she  slept  like  this. 


197 


CHAPTER  XI 

Komano  supper-party  was  on  Wednesday.    Thurs- 

1  day  morning  Edgar  Levi  was  at  Maiden  Lane  betimes ; 
twelve  o'clock  was  betimes  for  Edgar,  and  he  was  chaffing 
Joe  Aarons  in  his  familiar  way : 

"  Well !  how's  the  missus  and  the  kids  ?  I'll  tell  'em  how 
you've  been  going  on,  and  about  Miss  Mainwaring's  clothes  ! 
You've  kept  it  pretty  close,  but  we  can't  allow  this  sort  of 
thing  in  our  theatrical  agent,  it  isn't  playing  the  game; 
pilfering,  I  call  it,  petty  pilfering !  Now,  what  has  she 
been  costing  you  ?  What's  the  price  ?  That's  what  we 
want  to  know.  And  how  far  it's  gone.  Mind  you,  I 
respect  you  for  it,  but  how  about  the  Act  ?  I  bet  she  isn't 
eighteen  yet.  How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  She's  between  seventeen  and  eighteen." 

Joe  was  overjoyed  at  seeing  Edgar ;  he  had  slept  badly 
and  feared  he  had  made  a  mistake.  Miriam  had  comforted 
him,  telling  him  she  was  sure  he  never  made  mistakes. 
She  knew  no  details,  but  her  blind  and  perfect  faith  was 
better  for  him  than  an  intelligent  knowledge  would  have 
been.  He  came  to  the  office  feeling  more  hopeful,  already 
he  had  astutely  summed  up  as  assets,  Tom  Peters'  broken 
engagement  and  Lord  Kidderminster's  attentions. 

He  took  Edgar's  chaff  well ;  he  could  be  quite  as  coarse 
as  the  other.  It  did  not  hurt  Sally  Snape,  who  was  not 
there  to  hear  it,  nor  his  Miriam,  who  would  never  interfere 
with  business.  It  was  business  to  meet  Edgar  on  his  own 
ground,  to  be  interested  in  the  details  of  last  night's  orgie, 

198 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

to  listen  with  apparent  gusto  to  the  description  of  Elfrida 
drunk,  and  the  whole  scene  of  debauchery  in  Edgar's 
rooms.  But  he  was  glad  when  this  part  of  the  business 
was  over. 

"  How  about  terms  ? "  Edgar  said  suddenly.  "  You've 
got  some  sort  of  an  agreement  with  them,  Elfrida  tells  me." 

"  Two  years,  my  boy,"  answered  Joe,  triumphantly ;  he 
was  on  his  own  ground  now. 

"  At  three  pounds  a  week  ?  " 

"  I  see  you've  wormed  it  out  of  her." 

"  That's  what  I  took  her  home  for,  not  .  .  ."  But  the 
brutal,  unvarnished  expression  of  his  views  need  not  be 
repeated. 

"  Well,  when  you  know  the  price  you  haven't  got  much 
further,"  said  Joe. 

"  She  can't  sing." 

"  I  never  said  she  could." 

"  There  are  scores  better  dancers." 

"Well !  I'll  give  you  that  in." 

"  She  looks  delicate." 

"  She's  as  strong  as  a  horse." 

"  But  she  might  break  down." 

"As,  according  to  you  she  can't  sing,  and  she  can't 
dance,  it  don't  matter  if  she  does  break  down." 

"Now,  don't  be  nasty;  you  know  I'm.  trying  to  do  you 
a  good  turn." 

"  Or  yourself  ?  " 

"What  a  temper  you've  got!  If  I'd  had  your  temper 
I  shouldn't  be  where  I  am  for  a  month." 

"Now  then,  Edgar,  leave  off  fooling.  You  want  the 
girls,  Tom  wants  them.  What  about  me  and  my  agree- 
ment ?  " 

"  What  did  you  reckon  to  make  out  of  it  ?  " 

"Five  hundred  pounds." 

199 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Five  hundred  devils !     How  much  a  week,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Twallin  paid  me  twelve  guineas." 

"  For  how  long  ?  " 

"  As  long  as  I  wanted  them  to  go  on." 

"  Bosh  !  until  the  boys  got  tired  of  the  song,  about  four 
weeks  at  the  outside !  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  talking  like  that  ?  What  will  he 
give  ?  " 

"  She's  got  to  learn  her  business." 

"  I  paid  Job  Macher  a  fortune  to  teach  it  her." 

"Oh!  I  heard  about  that,  too.  Twelve  lessons  for 
five  guineas.  Three  weeks  out  of  work,  and  you  paid  'em 
thirty  shillings." 

"I  see  you  didn't  waste  your  time  last  night,"  Joe 
retorted,  sarcastically. 

Edgar's  rejoinder  matched  his  detail  at  the  beginning  of 
the  interview.  He  prided  himself  on  his  skill  at  repartee, 
and,  certainly,  no  one  could  ever  say  he  erred  through 
reticence. 

Nevertheless,  the  negotiations  took  some  time.  It  was 
midday  before  Sally  Snape's  agreement  with  Joe  Aarons 
had  found  its  way  to  Edgar  Levi's  pocket.  Joe  had  not 
got  his  five  hundred  pounds,  but,  needless  to  say,  he  had 
never  expected  it.  He  had  something  over  five  hundred 
per  cent,  nevertheless,  on  the  money  he  had  expended  on 
Sally's  education,  and  a  free  hand  to  get  anything  more 
that  he  could  in  the  way  of  commission. 

"  We  shan't  interfere  with  you,"  Edgar  said,  "  we  do  our 
business  our  own  way;  you  can  do  yours  your  own  way. 
We  shall  give  her  a  rising  salary,  and  you  can  have  a  com- 
mission on  it  if  you  make  it  right  with  her.  But  I've  got  a 
voice  in  the  salary  list,  so  I  hope  you'll  remember  me." 

This  was  at  lunch,  after  the  bargain  had  been  struck, 
and  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  his  success  had  made  Edgar 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

expansive.  He  had  had  a  good  morning,  for  the  agreement 
had  been  secured  at  twenty-five  per  cent  under  the  price 
Tom  Peters  had  authorized  him  to  give.  That  twenty-five 
per  cent  was  his  bonus.  Now  he  was  getting  a  lien  on 
Sally  Snape's  future,  and  he  had  no  doubt  that  was  a 
good  thing.  Sally  Snape  was  a  "flyer,"  he  knew  that. 
He  was  altogether  hilarious  and  familiar.  By  the  time 
they  parted,  Joe  felt  that  Edgar  Levi  had  got  all  the  best 
of  him,  and  his  pleasure  in  his  own  good  bargain  was  dashed 
by  the  consideration  of  how  much  better  the  other's  had 
been.  Then  his  thoughts  flew  to  his  home,  from  which 
they  were  never  long  absent,  and  he  pictured  his  clever 
Abe,  old  enough  to  be  down  here  with  him,  circumventing 
such  as  Edgar  Levi. 

"He'll  hold  his  own  with  them,"  he  thought.  "They 
won't  get  the  best  of  him ;  he'll  know  how  to  deal  with 
them." 

This  prospect  helped  him  to  accept  equably  what  he 
already  began  to  consider  his  own  failure  as  a  dealer. 
Edgar  had  tempted  him  where  he  knew  him  to  be  most 
vulnerable,  his  need  of  ready  money.  A  weekly  income 
is  all  very  well,  and  of  a  weekly  income  from  Sally,  Joe 
was  already  assured.  But  she  might  fall  ill,  or  get  tired 
of  work,  or  fail  to  please  a  strangely  fickle  public.  And  it 
was  October ;  school  bills  were  due  or  over-due,  money  for 
doctors,  clothes,  and  rent  seemed  to  be  wanted  all  at  once, 
and  he  hated  touching  his  investments.  Over-investing 
was  Joe  Aarons'  one  extravagance. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  Sally  was  to  know  nothing  for 
the  present  of  her  changed  circumstances.  It  was  neces- 
sary, for  instance,  that  she  should  finish  her  week's  engage- 
ment at  the  Grecian.  The  next  phase  in  her  career  was 
undecided  yet,  even  by  Tom  Peters.  She  might  not  please 
a  West  End  audience  as  she  had  pleased  an  East  End  one, 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

and,  at  the  moment,  Lord  Kidderminster  was  an  unknown 
quantity. 

"Somebody  pays  for  her  clothes,"  Tom  had  said  sapi- 
ently.  "I  don't  think  his  lordship  was  telling  me  lies, 
he  hopes  to  pay  for  them ;  we've  got  to  find  out  who  does. 
That's  your  job." 

All  the  dirty  work,  or  the  dirtiest  work,  of  the  unsavoury 
profession  was  supposed  to  be  Edgar's  share.  Edgar  had 
not  suspected  Joe  Aarons  of  the  lavish  expenditure  Sally's 
toilette  displayed,  but  he  had  been  unable  to  find  out  any- 
thing from  Elf rida ;  Elf rida  could  not  tell  what  she  did  not 
know. 

Sally  felt  like  Cinderella  when  Lord  Kidderminster  met 
her  the  next  night  at  the  stage-door  of  the  Grecian.  She 
had  punctiliously  taken  back  the  clothes  to  Mr.  Perry. 
Mr.  Perry  had  questioned  her  kindly,  had  called  her 
"child,"  and  asked  about  her  success  with  Mr.  Peters. 
She  could  not  translate  into  words  that  she  knew  Mr. 
Peters  thought  her  worth  looking  at;  and  something,  she 
did  not  know  what,  kept  her  from  mentioning  Lord  Kid- 
derminster's name,  even  when  Mr.  Perry  told  her  she  ought 
to  get  some  nice  young  man  to  pay  for  her  clothes.  The 
old  admiration  and  respect  for  Mr.  Perry  was  with  her  as 
she  lingered  to  see  him  sell  extraordinary  French  models 
to  ordinary  English  dowds.  He  caught  her  watching  him, 
and  said  condescendingly : 

"Don't  go,  Miss  Snape,  don't  hurry  away.  I've  got 
something  I  want  you  to  try  on." 

And  presently  she  tried  on  a  wonderful  sable  stole,  and 
revelled  in  its  softness  and  warmth,  and  she  saw  her  pale 
face  and  bright  hair  crowned  with  a  sable  toque  with  gold 
aigrette  and  jewelled  clasp.  Again  she  hugged  that  new 
good  gift;  she  was  beautiful,  beautiful.  She  wanted  Mr. 
Perry  to  see  it,  they  were  pleading  eyes  she  raised  to  his. 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Now,  you  be  a  good  girl,"  he  said,  "and  you'll  get 
your  chance ;  you  mark  my  words,  you'll  get  your  chance. 
Don't  throw  it  away,  that's  all.  .  .  ."  He  impressed  upon 
her  not  to  throw  away  her  chances. 

After  she  had  gone,  he  said  to  Miss  Baines  : 

"  She'll  find  some  one  to  look  after  her  presently.  You 
see  if  she  don't ;  that  red  hair  of  hers  will  do  it,  and  her 
figure.  My  word !  she'll  be  a  good  customer  then." 

"  I  think  we  are  getting  rather  too  many  of  that  sort  as 
it  is,"  Miss  Baines  replied,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  It's  all  right  as  long  as  we  don't  give  them  credit,"  he 
yawned  indifferently,  as  he  sauntered  off. 

Lord  Kidderminster  found  her  black  hat  and  shabby 
dress  quite  as  attractive  as  the  smart  clothes.  He  liked 
Sally's  welcoming  smile ;  and  he  behaved  very  well,  on 
the  whole,  when  he  realized  that  Sally  had  taken  it  for 
granted  that  Elfrida  was  included  in  the  invitation  to  supper. 

"We  have  neither  of  us  had  any  dinner  and  we  are 
awfully  hungry,"  she  began. 

Kiddie  was  glad  Edgar  Levi  was  hovering  about ;  he 
made  an  adaptable  fourth.  The  four  of  them  went  to 
Erascati's,  and  had  first  oysters  and  then  steak.  They 
drank  beer,  and  the  atmosphere  of  the  music-hall  seemed 
to  be  with  them  all  the  time.  There  was  less  glamour  about 
Sally  to-night;  as  to  conversation,  there  seemed  give-and- 
take  between  her,  Edgar,  and  Elfrida.  She  was  more 
amenable  to  the  beer  than  she  had  been  to  the  champagne. 
The  adventure  began  to  assume  its  proper  proportions. 
She  was  a  "  ripping  gal "  this  evening,  not  an  houri  nor  a 
goddess,  just  a  pretty  girl.  Edgar  had  the  geniality  of  the 
Jew,  and,  when  he  was  on  his  mettle,  could  behave  decently. 
They  were  all  very  merry ;  innuendoes,  which  passed  by 
Sally,  hit  their  mark  with  Elfrida,  and  were  fully  appreci- 
ated. 

203 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

But  Sally  could  laugh,  she  was  happy,  and  her  new  toy 
was  a  real  possession.  There  was  nothing  deeper  than  the 
surface  to  perplex  or  scare  her.  She  was  hungry,  and 
was  eating  and  drinking  in  this  fine  room,  she  saw  that 
both  the  men  knew  she  was  pretty.  Her  laugh  rang  out 
gay  and  infectious ;  she  was  a  little  beside  herself,  and  so 
less  silent  than  usual.  She  was  sorry  when  supper  was 
ended.  But  Elfrida  grew  cross  at  the  end,  and  said  she 
would  not  go  again  to  Edgar's  rooms ;  she  was  tired,  and 
wanted  an  early  night.  It  was  not  likely  she  appreciated 
playing  second  fiddle.  She  began  to  realize  that  the  "  car- 
roty factory  girl,"  as  she  called  Sally  contemptuously, 
was  cutting  her  out.  She  insisted  on  breaking  up  the 
party. 

It  suited  Edgar's  ends  very  well;  he  had  his  plan  of 
campaign  quickly  cut  and  dried.  It  was  the  possibility  of 
this  invitation  to  supper  that  had  set  him  loitering  to-night, 
apparently  after  Elfrida  Carthew.  Now  he  wanted  to  get 
rid  of  the  girls  ;  he  wanted  a  word,  of  course,  an  impromptu 
word,  with  Lord  Kidderminster. 

It  all  fell  out  as  he  had  intended.  Kiddie  lent  the  girls 
the  brougham;  it  was  a  fine  night,  and  Edgar  offered  to 
walk  a  bit  with  him.  Walking  was  not  much  in  Edgar's 
line,  but  Kiddie  had  always  used  his  limbs. 

"  She's  a  pretty  girl,"  Edgar  began  tentatively,  after 
he  had  offered  Kiddie  a  cigar  and  lighted  his  own,  ogling 
a  daughter  of  pleasure  who  passed  into  the  restaurant 
alone.  "  A  devilish  pretty  girl,  I  call  her,  and  that  laugh 
of  hers  .  .  ."  He  imitated  it,  a  startlingly  strange  echo. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  said  Kiddie  sharply.  And  they  walked 
on  a  few  paces,  talking  of  indifferent  things. 

"  We're  thinking  of  putting  up  <  In  Far  Cathay  '  again," 
Edgar  said  after  a  pause,  a  pause  in  which  he  did  some 
rapid  thinking.  "Tom  has  given  Hyams  the  music  to 

204 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

overhaul.     What  is  your  view?     He's   got  two  or  three 
ripping  new  numbers." 

Kiddie  seemed  indifferent. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  Tom  to  try  some  new  blood.  Kittie 
Golden  is  all  very  well,  and  so  is  Maudie.  I  like  the  Skinner 
girls,  and,  of  course,  we've  got  a  good  chorus,  but  we  want 
something  new." 

"  Georgie  Lute  ?  "  suggested  Kiddie  disingenuously. 

"  Going  on  at  the  Roma." 

But  Kiddie  was  a  child  in  Edgar's  hands.  Before  they 
had  got  to  Oxford  Circus  he  found  himself  suggesting  that 
Tom  should  give  Miss  Mainwaring  a  chance.  Ere  they 
had  reached  Piccadilly  the  subject  was  being  thoroughly 
threshed  out.  It  seemed  that  the  remounting  of  "  In  Far 
Cathay  "  was  only  in  the  air  at  present  —  Tom  funked  the 
expense.  Kiddie  was  enlightened  as  to  the  cost  of  dressing 
such  a  performance.  He  heard  of  the  author's  heavy  fees, 
and  was  told,  incidentally,  that  the  lyrists  and  musicians 
had  also  to  be  paid.  Then  his  imagination  was  kindled 
by  the  suggestion  of  seeing  Sarita  Mainwaring  in  a  Letty 
Lind  part.  Sally,  on  Edgar's  lips,  lost  more  of  her  illusion, 
but  none  of  her  attraction.  He  was  a  picturesque  talker, 
and  Kiddie  was  no  stoic.  Edgar  gave  Kiddie  a  drink  at 
the  very  bohemian  Club  that  he  honoured  with  his  member- 
ship, and  Lord  Kidderminster,  before  he  went  to  bed,  had 
practically  promised  to  put  up  the  money  for  "In  Far 
Cathay,"  on  the  condition  that  Tom  would  give  Miss  Main- 
waring  a  chance  in  the  part  formerly  played  by  Miss  Letty 
Lind. 

"  We've  been  half  the  evening  without  a  fourth,"  growled 
Tom,  when  Edgar  turned  up,  something  after  one  A.M.,  at 
Mr.  Jupe's  rooms  in  Dover  Street,  as  fresh  as  paint.  "  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  have  been  doing  with  your- 
self?" 

205 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Working  for  you,  as  usual,"  he  answered  gaily.  "  Can 
I  cut  in  ?  Who's  been  winning  ?  " 

But  the  position  was  quite  clear  to  him. 

Jerry  Jupe  was  Tom's  solicitor,  very  sharp  in  his  profes- 
sion; out  of  it  a  sensualist,  a  gambler,  wholly  without 
self-control.  Tom  paid  him  handsomely,  and  won  back 
every  emolument  from  him  quite  regularly. 

Jupe  was  very  good-looking,  in  a  sleek,  plebeian  way. 
He  knew  how  clever  he  was  at  his  office,  and  never  grasped 
how  foolish  he  was  out  of  it.  Tom  flattered  his  vanity, 
gave  him  the  freedom  of  "behind  the  scenes,"  and  some- 
times told  him,  as  if  enviously,  what  a  success  he  was  with 
the  girls !  Jerry  never  resisted  any  temptation.  He  was 
still  a  comparatively  young  man,  and,  but  for  Toni,  who 
was  considered  his  most  valuable  client,  he  might,  have  been 
a  successful  one. 

They  were  playing  bridge  at  shilling  points  when  Edgar 
came  in.  The  other  two  guests  were  racing-men.  No  one 
was  quite  sober  but  Tom.  He  had  won,  and  so  had  his  part- 
ners ;  there  was  not  as  much  in  it  as  there  ought  to  have 
been,  however.  Edgar  was  his  favourite  partner,  but  Edgar 
had  not  been  there.  Now  the  party  was  on  the  point  of 
breaking  up. 

"  Blaines  wants  to  go,"  Tom  said,  still  sitting  at  the 
table,  shuffling  the  cards  about  with  his  dark-palmed, 
croupier-like  hand.  "  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed  yet.  Why 
don't  you  and  Jupe  take  us  on,  Venables  ?  Just  for  three 
rubbers.  Best  of  three." 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?  "  said  Edgar. 

Venables  thought  he'd  rather  play  with  Tom  against 
Edgar  and  Jupe.  But  Edgar  demurred.  He  said  he  was 
such  a  rotten  bad  player ;  it  wasn't  fair  on  Jupe.  He  didn't 
mind  losing  Tom  a  rubber  or  two ;  Tom  could  afford  it. 

"  I  can't  afford  it,  but  I  don't  mind,"  interposed  Tom. 

206 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Still,  he  "  didn't  care  who  he  played  with,"  he  said,  but  he 
"  liked  a  match,  there  was  more  fun  in  a  match." 

It  was  finally  arranged,  of  course,  that  Tom  should  play 
with  Edgar.  Edgar  made  a  great  many  mistakes.  Jupe 
and  Venables  saw  that  he  was  no  player.  Yet,  strangely 
enough,  all  his  mistakes  proved  to  be  lucky  ones.  If  he 
called  "  no  trumps  "  without  an  ace,  his  partner  had  three. 
If  he  announced  hearts  with  four,  there  were  six  small  ones 
in  Tom's  hand. 

They  won  all  three  rubbers,  and  then  they  agreed  to  a 
change  of  partners.  But  Tom  suddenly  remembered  he 
had  an  early  rehearsal. 

"  You  might  have  reminded  me,"  he  said,  plaintively,  to 
Edgar,  who  admitted  his  carelessness.  Edgar  ate  some 
sandwiches  and  drank  a  glass  of  port,  with  engaging  aban- 
donment to  his  appetite,  and  was  called  to  accompany  Tom 
on  his  way  home,  whilst  his  mouth  was  still  full.  He 
hurried  away  without  completing  his  impromptu  supper. 

"  All  right,  Jupe ;  thanks,  old  fellow.  I'll  take  another 
with  me.  Thanks  for  a  pleasant  evening.  Sorry  you  were 
the  victim.  But  Tom  is  a  lucky  devil.  Wait  a  minute, 
Tom,  I  must  get  my  coat  on.  Can't  you  see  I've  got  my 
mouth  full  ?  What  a  chap  you  are ! "  But  he  followed 
him  into  the  night. 

Tom  Peters  had  a  fine  house  in  Berkeley  Square ;  Edgar's 
humble  lodgings  were  in  Curzon  Street. 

"You  played  that  last  hand  very  badly,"  Tom  began; 
"  we  ought  to  have  made  at  least  two  more  tricks." 

"  I've  played  one  hand  bally  well  to-night,  I  can  tell  you. 
Lord  Kidderminster  is  going  to  pay  for  the  production  of 
<  In  Far  Cathay.'  " 

He  stopped  for  comment,  but  ostensibly  to  light  his  ciga- 
rette. 

"Whatl" 

207 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Even  Tom  forgot  his  habitual  nonchalance  for  the  moment 
but  quickly  went  on :  "  Nonsense,"  he  said,  "  what's  that 
nonsense  you  are  saying  ?  " 

"It's  not  nonsense,  it's  sound  common  sense,  and  busi- 
ness, too.  You'll  have  the  Verandah  on  your  hands  in  a 
fortnight ;  you're  losing  a  thousand  a  week  there  now. 
Kiddie  is  gone  on  that  girl,  head  over  heels,  I  don't  know 
nor  care  if  he's  first,  second,  or  third  with  her,  nor  how  far 
they've  got;  but  I  saw  how  it  was,  and  I  struck  while  the 
iron  was  hot.  You  might  say  '  thank  you '  to  a  fellow. 
She  isn't  Letty  Lind,  but  there's  something  about  her  that 
reminds  one  of  Letty.  If  you'll  let  Sarita  Mainwaring 
play  Letty  Lind's  part,  Kidderminster  will  put  up  the 
brass.  .  .  ." 

"You  are  clever,  there's  no  denying  it."  Tom  had  to 
admit  it,  however  grudgingly.  " '  In  Far  Cathay '  ?  But 
why  <  In  Far  Cathay '  ?  " 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  else 
at  the  moment.  And  there  he  sat  making  eyes  at  her,  and 
I  sat  thinking  what  we  could  get  out  of  it,  and  then  it 
struck  me  all  of  a  sudden.  What's  a  premium,  or  anything 
we  could  ask  him  for,  to  put  her  into  '  The  Boys  from 
Burton  '  compared  to  this  ?  We  shall  get  a  run  for  nothing." 

Tom  had  no  more  to  say. 

"  Well,  here  we  are.  My  wife  will  be  wondering  what's 
become  of  me.  So  long.  .  .  .  I'll  see  you  in  the  morning." 

"  I  suppose  I'll  get  a  bit  out  of  it  ?  "  Edgar  was  never 
tired ;  he  wanted  to  linger  even  now. 

"  Don't  you  get  a  bit  out  of  everything  ?  "  Tom  answered, 
drily. 

Edgar  laughed. 

"  Don't  I  earn  it  ?  "  he  retorted. 

«  Good  night." 

«  Good  night." 

208 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Lord  Kidderminster  was  at  the  Grecian  on  Friday  night 
and  Saturday.  But  on  the  first  occasion  Elfrida  was 
sick,  and  Sally  could  not  be  persuaded  to  sup  out  without 
her;  and,  on  the  second,  it  seemed  she  had  promised 
Johnny  to  have  tripe  and  onions  with  him.  Sally,  up  to 
this  period  of  her  life,  had  rarely  broken  a  promise,  or 
failed  to  keep  an  appointment.  Besides,  she  wanted  to 
sup  with  Johnny,  who  had  something  very  important  to  tell 
her,  as  he  found  time  to  whisper.  And  he  bribed  her  with 
the  tripe  that  she  loved.  She  told  Lord  Kidderminster  she 
wasn't  dressed  to  go  out  with  him. 

"Another  night  then,  Miss  Sarita.  You'll  give  me 
another  evening?"  He  knew  it  was  with  the  stage- 
carpenter  that  she  was  keeping  an  appointment.  Johnny 
touched  his  hat  to  him,  and  called  him  "  my  lord,"  waiting 
respectfully  whilst  he  detained  Sally. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.  I'll  have  supper  with  you  some 
other  night,  any  other  night;  but  now  I've  promised 
Johnny." 

"His  lordship  is  taken  with  you,  Sal,"  said  Johnny 
solemnly,  when  at  last  she  was  free,  and  they  walked  away 
together. 

Sally  smiled.  "  Yes,  that  he  is.  He's  made  Mr.  Peters 
engage  me.  This  is  my  last  night  here." 

"I  know,"  answered  Johnny  gloomily.  "He's  up  to 
no  good." 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself,"  laughed  Sally,  with  a  toss 
of  her  head.  "I  like  him,  he's  a  nice  fellow;  but  he 
won't  get  anything  out  of  me." 

She  felt  quite  safe,  and  happy,  and  exhilarated.  Life 
was  going  very  pleasantly.  She  was  leaving  the  halls 
and  going  on  the  regular  stage,  as  Miss  Eugeley  wished. 
Mr.  Levi  told  her  she  was  going  to  have  six  pounds  a 
week  and  all  her  dresses  found  for  her.  She  would  have 
p  309 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

been  even  happier,  but  that  Elfrida  was  sulky  and  injured 
and  altogether  impossible  to  please,  because  Mr.  Peters 
had  not  offered  her  an  engagement  at  the  Verandah.  That 
was  the  only  drawback. 

"  I'm  going  to  move  my  room.  I'm  not  going  on  living 
with  her.  Mr.  Levi  is  going  to  help  me  to  find  a  clean 
little  place  of  my  own,  near  the  theatre.  He  thinks  I'd 
be  just  as  well  alone  a  bit,  if  I  can  stand  it.  He  says  I'll 
have  a  lot  of  work  to  do.  I'm  going  back  to  Job  Macher  for 
more  lessons,  and  then  there'll  be  rehearsals,  singing  and 
dancing,  and  my  dresses  to  see  to." 

"  It's  all  very  worldly,"  said  Johnny  Doone  solemnly. 

"  Worldly !  My !  "  she  turned  to  look  at  him.  "  Why, 
what's  come  to  you,  Johnny  Doone  ?  "  she  cried. 

It  all  came  out  over  supper,  over  the  plate  of  tripe 
in  the  stuffy  little  eating-house.  Johnny  had  "found 
salvation  " ;  that  was  what  he  wanted  to  tell  Sally  about. 
And  he  wanted  her  to  be  saved  too.  At  least,  he  had  wanted 
that,  until  he  heard  she  was  going  to  get  six  pounds  a  week, 
and  then,  of  course,  he  saw  it  was  no  good.  But  he  used 
the  words  he  had  been  taught,  and  pleaded  with  her,  even 
if  it  was  in  a  half-hearted  manner. 

"I've  always  been  fond  of  you,  Sal.  I've  never  so 
much  as  looked  at  another  girl.  I  know  you're  altogether 
too  grand  for  me,  but  they'd  make  you  a  captain.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  go  away  with  you!  Me  a  captain;  I  look  like 
it,  don't  I  ?  And  in  the  Salvation  Army,  too  !  You  don't 
know  what  you're  talking  about.  You  don't  mean  to  say 
you're  leaving  the  Grecian,  giving  up  good  work  and  good 
pay  ?  " 

"  I've  got  my  soul  to  think  of,  my  immortal  soul,  Sal." 

"Not  you;  we  haven't  got  no  immortal  souls.  And 
if  we  have,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Tell  you  what  it  is, 
Johnny.  You  mayn't  know,  but  I  know  it.  I've  always 

210 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

known  it  ...  you're  lazy,  that's  what  it  is;  you  don't 
want  to  work.  You'll  march  about  with  a  banner,  just  so 
long  as  you  feel  inclined,  then  you'll  flop  down,  and  you'll 
think  you're  praying.  But  you  won't  be  ;  you'll  be  resting, 
resting.  You're  bone  lazy  —  bone,"  she  repeated  with 
contempt.  "Praying!  there's  work  for  a  man!"  She 
threw  this  at  him  viciously. 

They  fought  over  supper,  it  was  almost  like  old  times. 
Johnny  talked  of  "  grace  "  and  the  giving  up  of  temptation. 
Sally  lashed  him  with  her  tongue.  She  told  him  his  boasted 
conversion  would  land  him  in  a  workhouse.  He  warned  her 
solemnly  of  the  fate  of  light  women.  He  used  the  jargon 
he  had  been  taught,  it  came  easy  to  him  already.  Sally  had 
no  fears  for  herself  or  her  future,  she  was  hardly  full-grown 
yet.  But  Johnny  was  her  great  friend,  and  she  had  been 
proud  of  his  late  industry  and  steadiness.  She  did  not 
want  to  marry  him,  she  did  not  want  to  marry  any  one. 
But  all  the  time  she  had  been  at  the  Grecian  she  had 
been  glad  he  had  been  there,  working  and  steady,  and 
always  at  hand. 

"  You  with  a  peaked  cap  and  a  banner ! "  she  repeated 
contem  ptuou  sly. 

"  It's  better  nor  being  a  kept  woman,"  he  retorted  sul- 
lenly. 

But  the  words  missed  their  meaning  for  her. 

She  went  out  to  lunch  with  Kiddie  a  few  days  after 
this.  It  was  at  a  little  quiet  restaurant  off  the  Strand,  and 
they  had  a  serious  talk.  It  was  nice  to  have  found  a  friend 
now  that  she  had  lost  Johnny.  For  Johnny,  unmoved  by 
argument,  had  actually  joined  the  Salvation  Army,  and  wore 
the  cap  and  red  jersey  she  despised. 

She  talked  about  her  new  part  to  Kiddie,  and  her  fears 
lest  she  should  fail  to  please  a  West  End  audience.  And 
her  part  in  "  In  Far  Cathay "  was  the  one  in  which  Miss 

211 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Letty  Lind  had  made  her  great  name  and  success.  Sally 
had  never  seen  the  great  one,  but  she  knew  of  her  tradi- 
tion. 

Kiddie  was  thoroughly  sympathetic ;  he  told  her  he 
knew  she  would  be  "  rippin'."  He  was  going  to  have  a 
front  stall,  and  would  clap  when  she  came  on.  Kiddie 
became  more  and  more  enthralled.  Sally's  childishness, 
innocence,  ease,  held  him  as  no  arts  would  have  done.  He 
fetched  her  in  the  brougham,  and  took  her  to  her  lessons 
with  Job.  He  talked  to  Job  about  her  progress,  but  Job 
would  not  let  him  be  present  at  the  lessons. 

Edgar  Levi,  no  less  than  Tom,  and  the  whole  entourage, 
was  busy  with  the  new  production;  but  Edgar  found 
time  to  run  up  to  Gooch  Place,  and  to  condemn  it  root 
and  branch. 

"  A  nice  clean  little  flat,  that's  what  you  want." 

Then  he  proceeded  to  find  one  for  her.  He  was  very 
clever.  He  got  rid  of  Elfrida,  finding  a  place  for  her  in 
one  of  Tom's  travelling  companies.  It  was  the  one  that 
was  going  out  to  South  Africa. 

"  It's  a  bit  far,"  he  agreed  with  her,  "but  think  of  the 
chances  you'll  have,  and  next  to  no  competition." 

Ursula  Rugeley,  when  Sally  went  to  see  her  on  Sunday, 
was  very  glad  to  hear  she  was  separating  herself  from 
Elfrida.  Ursula  had  never  approved  of  the  flighty,  yellow- 
headed  girl  as  a  companion  for  Sally.  But  she  had  wisely 
said  nothing,  she  did  not  want  to  "  put  ideas  into  Sally's 
head."  There  were  certain  ideas  that  never  seemed  to 
enter  there.  Ursula  had  little  distrust  of  human  nature, 
but  Sally  had  none. 

"  Does  Mr.  Levi  think  you  will  be  better  in  a  flat  than  in 
a  nice  boarding-house  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

"I  must  practise  my  singing;  Lord  Kidderminster  is 
going  to  pay  for  lessons  for  me." 

212 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

There  was  nothing  to  startle  the  old  maid  in  hearing 
of  Lord  Kidderminster's  generosity.  She  did  not  read 
penny  novelettes  or  melodramatic  fiction,  and  in  the  world 
she  frequented  there  were  many  philanthropists  who  paid 
for  sewing  machines,  and  type-writers,  mangles,  and  other 
implements  of  toil.  Why  should  not  Lord  Kidderminster, 
or  any  other,  help  Sally  ?  Ursula,  who  prided  herself  on 
her  broad-mindedness,  had  not  even  a  word  of  warning 
for  her  protegee.  She  was  very  proud  of  her  good  looks, 
her  improved  speech,  and  pretty  manners. 

"  I  should  have  been  nowhere  without  you,"  Sally  said, 
in  a  rare  burst  of  feeling.  The  gratitude  was  always  there, 
but  the  expression  was  rare. 

"  You've  always  been  a  good  girl,  an  industrious,  steady 
girl,"  answered  Ursula,  "and  self-respecting.  You  owe 
most  of  all  to  yourself." 

Sally  was  in  truth  quite  pleased  with  herself.  Her  new 
toy  brought  her  so  many  others.  She  felt  that,  if  she  had 
not  been  pretty,  everybody  would  not  be  so  kind  to  her. 
It  was  a  knowledge  that  came  to  her  comparatively  late, 
but  now  it  was  definite  and  established.  Tom  smiled  on 
her  and  encouraged  her  at  rehearsal,  Edgar  helped  her 
about  a  flat,  and  everything ;  Lord  Kidderminster  was  her 
great  friend,  her  real  friend.  She  was  seeing  a  great  deal 
of  him  just  now. 

It  was  before  the  first  night  of  "In  Far  Cathay"  that 
Mr.  Perry  heard  of  this  friendship.  He  was  not  dress- 
ing the  play  entirely  ;  it  was  only  recognized  gradually 
that  nobody  could  equal  him  as  a  theatrical  costumier, 
that  his  instinct  for  colour  was  as  accurate,  vital,  and 
unerring  in  the  mass  as  in  detail.  But  he  had  three 
dresses  to  make  for  Miss  Golden,  and  all  the  gossip  and 
scandal  of  the  stage  flowed  to  him  in  a  continuous  stream 
from  her  lips,  as  he  lounged  about  the  door,  or  sank  into  a 

213 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

chair  to  superintend  the  fittings.  He  pricked  up  his  ears 
when  she  began  to  talk  of  Miss  Mainwaring. 

"  Ever  seen  her  ?  "  Miss  Golden  asked  him.  "  She's  not 
a  bit  good-looking  ...  a  snub-nosed  little  thing  with  a 
couple  of  yards  of  coarse  red  hair,  and  an  eighteen-iuch 
waist.  I  hear  she  hasn't  any  talent  either.  Kidderminster 
picked  her  up  at  one  of  the  East  End  music-halls,  and  is 
having  her  coached  for  all  she's  worth.  He's  taken  a  flat 
somewhere  in  Victoria  for  her,  and  is  producing  the  whole 
show  at  his  own  expense." 

Kitty  Golden  was  too  successful  to  be  ill-natured,  and 
was  a  real  beauty  to  boot.  Kiddie  did  not  throw  his 
money  about  in  the  popular  Verandah  manner,  he  had 
never  been  a  pal  of  hers,  and  she  was  not  in  the  least  jeal- 
ous of  the  new-comer.  Kitty  had  played  lead  in  the  new 
production,  her  popularity  and  her  public  were  assured. 

"  She's  going  to  sing  Letty  Lind's  songs,  and  I'm  told 
she's  an  absolute  stick.  I  haven't  been  to  a  rehearsal  yet, 
but  I'm  going  to-morrow  just  to  see  her." 

After  Kitty  Golden  had  gone,  Mr.  Perry  called  Miss 
Baines. 

"Drop  a  line  to  Miss  Snape,  Miss  Baines,  will  you, 
please?  Tell  her  I  have  some  models  I  want  her  to  see." 

"  Miss  Snape  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Miss  Baines  had  not  been  present  at  the  fitting  of  Miss 
Golden. 

Mr.  Perry  offered  no  explanation,  neither  then,  nor  later 
on,  when  Miss  Snape  arrived,  and  model  after  model  was 
exhibited  for  her  edification. 

Mr.  Perry  no  longer  called  her  "child."  He  treated 
her  as  if  she  were  a  customer,  advising  this  and  insisting 
on  the  other,  telling  her  what  she  ought  to  wear,  and 
when.  Sally,  impressed,  bewildered,  listened,  hesitated, 
tried  to  explain,  told  her  salary.  Mr.  Perry  waved  it  away : 

214 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Oh,  that  will  be  all  right,  Miss  Snape.  Your  salary 
will  soon  be  higher,  much  higher.  There  will  be  no  hurry 
for  our  account.  But  you  can't  be  seen  in  that  thing  "  — 
there  was  immeasurable  contempt  in  his  voice  —  "  you  must 
have  decent  dresses." 

Sally  was  innately  honest  as  she  was  innately  pure.  But 
she  loved  soft  linings  and  pretty  frocks.  She  loved,  too, 
her  new  flat,  a  furnished  bedroom,  sitting-room,  and  bath- 
room, in  Tillery  Mansions,  Victoria.  She  was  not  dull  or 
solitary  in  it,  there  was  no  time.  There  were  music  lessons, 
and  dancing  lessons,  she  had  massage  to  make  her  limbs 
supple,  she  had  her  rehearsals,  those  rehearsals  at  which  she 
was  always  tongue-tied  and  stupid,  and  she  had  Lord  Kid- 
derminster's society  for  at  least  one  meal  a  day.  Nearly 
all  the  girls  in  her  company  had  a  friend,  some  one  who 
.took  them  out  for  lunch  or  supper. 

"Is  Kiddie  your  'boy'?"  asked  one  of  them.  They 
nearly  all  had  their  "boys."  The  word  implied  nothing 
to  Sally,  and  meant  little  to  them.  The  majority  of  these 
fellow-workers  of  hers  were  "takers,"  not  "givers."  They 
evaded  their  obligations,  accepting  everything.  It  was  a 
new  world,  and  Sally  walked  in  it,  happy-eyed,  seeing 
little. 

Edgar  was  further  in  Kiddie's  confidence  than  anybody 
else,  and,  in  a  limited  sense,  it  was  his  advice  that  was 
being  followed.  Very  little  had  been  said,  but  it  was  under- 
stood that  Kiddie  was  "  to  let  her  alone  "  until  after  the  first 
night  of  the  show.  Edgar  was  always  keen  on  whatever  he 
had  in  hand.  "  In  Far  Cathay  "  was  to  be  a  success.  Car- 
penters, property-men,  Tom  himself,  everybody,  was  work- 
ing at  top  speed,  and  with  extraordinary  energy.  Isaac 
Hyams'  new  numbers  were  considered  great.  Never  had 
so  many  pretty  girls  been  in  the  chorus.  Money  was  being 
spent  lavishly ;  it  was  Kidderminster's  money,  but  that 

215 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

was  an  unimportant  detail.  Sally  was  not  the  only  new- 
comer ;  there  was  a  little  French  girl  with  whom  Tom  Peters 
was  managerially  infatuated,  and  a  quartette  of  dancers 
who  were  expected  to  draw  the  town. 

Sally  grew  more  nervous  as  the  first  night  drew  near.  She 
was  entangled  in  a  net,  and  although  not  fully  realizing  her 
position  it  nevertheless  had  its  effect  upon  her  nerves.  She 
was  wearing  the  clothes  which  Mr.  Perry  supplied,  she  was 
living  in  the  flat  which  Edgar  Levi  had  found  for  her,  and 
she  was  incurring  all  these  and  other  expenses  on  the  strength 
of  her  future  salary.  She  hated  debt,  and  felt  she  was  pil- 
ing it  up.  Edgar  Levi,  Mr.  Perry,  and  Lord  Kidderminster 
told  her  not  to  worry  about  her  rent  or  her  dresses.  But 
their  reassurance  only  held  whilst  she  was  in  company. 

When  she  went  to  bed  at  night,  dead  tired,  exhausted 
with  the  day's  work,  or  the  day's  pleasure,  she  sometimes 
could  not  sleep  for  the  figures  that  thronged.  She  added 
up  the  cost  of  the  flat,  and  the  cost  of  the  dresses,  calculating 
how  much  she  could  save  from  her  salary,  how  long  it 
would  take  her  to  get  straight,  and  what  she  would  do  if 
she  were  not  a  success,  if  Tom  Peters  would  not  keep  her, 
if  she  failed  to  please  the  public.  She  knew  Kiddie  would 
be  a  friend  to  her,  she  fell  asleep  always  with  that  know- 
ledge. But  not  without  misgiving,  never  quite  without 
misgiving. 

She  had  the  heart  of  a  child,  but,  somewhere,  dim  and 
shadowy  in  the  background  of  her  ignorance  and  thought- 
lessness, her  woman's  instinct  was  working.  She  liked 
Kiddie,  enjoyed  talking  to  him,  and  was  grateful  for  his 
kindness  and  sympathy.  But  with  him  it  was  not  merely 
a  liking;  he  wanted  something  from  her.  Her  instinct 
told  her  that,  and  she  shrank  from  the  knowledge,  shutting 
her  ears,  her  memory,  and  her  intelligence. 

But  her  sleep  was  dogged,  her  work  interrupted,  and 

216 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

sometimes  her  fine  food  was  only  sawdust.  That  was 
when  Kiddie  looked  at  her,  and  her  own  eyes  drooped 
before  his. 

The  great  day  dawned  at  length,  the  day  that  ushered 
in  the  first  performance  of  "  In  Far  Cathay." 

The  dress  rehearsal  had  gone  execrably.  The  few  friends 
of  the  management,  and  other  personal  intimates  who  had 
been  present,  had  gone  away  wondering  at  Tom's  folly 
in  presenting  such  an  obvious  amateur  to  his  fastidious 
public.  They  wondered  aloud  how  much  Lord  Kidder- 
minster had  paid  for  the  privilege  of  seeing  the  girl  make  a 
fool  of  herself !  They  laughed  at  his  taste  and  his  judg- 
ment, and  the  folly  of  everybody  concerned  in  her  appear- 
ance. Sally's  dance,  as  well  as  her  song,  had  been  paralyzed 
by  unfriendly  faces  and  an  unfriendly  audience.  She  seemed 
to  be  in  a  position  to  which  her  merits  did  not  entitle  her. 
The  very  girls  of  the  chorus  jeered  at  her.  Each  of  them 
felt  she  could  have  done  better,  and  resented  in  her  own 
way  that  Lord  Kidderminster  should  have  forced  Sally 
undeservedly  to  the  front. 

Sally  had  gone  back  to  her  flat,  broken-hearted,  to  cry 
the  night  through.  Her  liabilities  and  obligations  mingled 
their  grotesque  terrors  with  her  feeling  of  artistic  help- 
lessness and  hopelessness.  Everything  served  to  unfit  her 
for  the  ordeal  of  the  morrow. 

Her  collapse  at  the  dress  rehearsal  had  not  been  without 
its  serious  effect  on  the  principals.  Tom  had  sworn  at 
everybody,  at  Edgar  most  of  all.  Lord  Kidderminster, 
who  had  been  "in  front,"  had  felt  his  heart  swell  with 
tenderness.  Never  had  he  experienced  a  like  feeling.  He 
was  so  sorry  for  her,  so  understandingly  sorry ;  he  wanted 
to  take  her  away  from  it  all.  Why  the  devil  should  she 
sing  or  dance  ?  It  was  for  himself  he  wanted  her.  He  had 
been  a  fool.  Why  had  he  let  her  come  here,  worked  for 

217 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

her  to  come  here,  only  to  be  distressed  and  made  unhappy, 
poor  little  girl  ?  He  was  impatient  with  the  dragging 
play;  hopelessly  vulgar,  stupid,  and  dreary,  it  seemed  to 
him.  Literally  his  heart  ached  with  tenderness,  and  he 
failed  to  understand  himself  or  his  feeling.  He  hurried 
round  to  the  stage  door  before  the  curtain  fell,  but  Sally 
had  already  left  the  house.  Edgar  begged  him  not  to  go 
after  her. 

"  Leave  her  alone,  she'll  get  over  it.  It  was  only  stage 
fright,  and  the  want  of  direct  encouragement.  Tom  is 
raving,  running  about  like  a  bear  with  a  sore  head.  But 
it's  all  right,  she'll  be  good;  see  if  she  isn't." 

"I  don't  care." 

Kiddie's  lips  were  trembling;  he  was  quite  unlike  him- 
self, having,  for  the  moment,  lost  his  control.  "I  don't 
care  a  damn  if  she's  good  or  bad.  Take  her  off  altogether, 
if  you  like.  She's  been  overworked,  poor  little  girl.  I'm 
going  off  to  her.  I  shall  take  her  out  of  town,  if  she'll  come. 
You  can  put  off  the  show,  or  get  some  one  else.  She  was 
all  to  pieces.  Tom,  or  some  one,  has  been  bullying  her ;  I 
won't  have  it.  .  .  ." 

Edgar  saw  how  it  was  with  him.  It  was  the  sort  of 
feeling  he  was  capable  of  himself,  although  it  never  lasted 
long  with  him.  His  racial  gift  of  sympathy  came  in,  as 
well  as  his  optimism. 

"  She  hasn't  been  bullied,  and  she  won't  be  bullied,  trust 
me  for  that;  it  was  only  an  hysterical  breakdown.  I've 
seen  scores  of  'em  like  it  —  all  the  real  artists.  She'll 
think  she's  an  utter  failure  to-night,  and  cry  her  eyes 
out.  .  .  .» 

Again  Kiddie  felt  that  strange  contraction  round  his 
heart. 

"But  she  will  pull  herself  together  by  to-morrow,  and 
you  see  if  she  don't  surprise  them.  She  was  just  the  same 

218 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

the  first  night  we  saw  her  at  the  Grecian  —  paralytic  ;  but 
see  what  happened  when  the  boys  cheered  her !  I'm  going 
to  get  those  boys." 

"  A  claque  I " 

"You  leave  it  to  me.  I  promise  you,  you'll  see  some- 
thing to-morrow  night.  But  leave  her  alone.  .  .  ." 

Kiddie  had  no  choice  as  to  leaving  her  alone.  He  went 
to  the  flat,  and  rang  and  rang,  but  the  place  was  in  dark- 
ness, and  he  got  no  response.  He  went  away  at  last, 
haunted  by  the  thought  of  the  girl,  crying  alone,  miserable 
through  his  mistake.  His  feeling  for  her  did  not  include 
at  the  moment  any  real  belief  in  her  talent.  It  did  not 
seem  to  matter,  either.  Only  her  distress  mattered,  and 
haunted  him  all  that  long  evening. 


219 


CHAPTER  XII 

r  I  THE  curtain  rose  on  the  first  night  of  "  In  Far  Cathay  " 
with  commendable  promptitude.  Gallery  and  pit 
were  crammed,  stalls  and  boxes  comparatively  empty. 
During  the  opening  chorus,  and  all  through  the  beginning 
of  the  first  act,  well-dressed  barbarians  forced  their  un- 
mannerly entrance,  talking,  disturbing  occupants  of  other 
seats,  obstructing  the  view  of  those  who  had  put  themselves 
to  immense  fatigue,  and  exercised  immeasurable  patience, 
to  obtain  it. 

It  was  a  typical  first  night.  Every  one  knew  his  neigh- 
bour, and  had  brought  his  preconceived  views  of  the  play, 
with  intent  to  expound  them.  When  the  smart  young 
men  were  settled  in  their  seats,  they  took  pains  to  show 
that  they  knew  the  chorus  by  their  Christian  names,  and 
they  advertised  their  knowledge  freely.  One  heard  that 
"Millie"  looked  "thundering"  well,  but  "Jess"  had 
had  a  cold  ;  that  the  "  Skinner"  girls  had  locked  "Mama" 
in  her  room,  so  that  they  could  give  her  stall  to  "  Ernie  "  ; 
and  that  "  Gus  "  thought  "  Lily  "  would  never  appear  at 
all,  for  she  was  so  "screwed"  at  five  o'clock  this  after- 
noon that  he  had  the  devil's  own  work  to  get  her  home. 
Ordinary  coulisse  gossip. 

Ladies  moved  restlessly,  and  listened  perfunctorily,  say- 
ing it  was  not  as  if  "In  Far  Carthay"  were  a  new  play. 
A  few  of  them  were  interested  in  the  tenor,  and  some  spoke 
of  the  dresses.  The  representatives  of  the  Press  yawned, 
having  already  written  the  notices  with  a  view  to  the 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

advertisement  columns,  leaving  a  few  lines  to  be  added 
about  the  reception  of  the  piece,  and  the  speech  Mr.  Peters 
was  sure  to  make  when  it  was  over. 

Tom  always  made  a  speech.  He  knew  the  gallery  boys 
liked  a  little  additional  fun  for  their  money,  and  they  could 
always  guy  him  without  disturbing  his  serenity.  He  rather 
liked  it,  and  thought  it  lucky ;  all  his  most  successful  pro- 
ductions had  been  booed,  and  universally  condemned  by 
the  Press.  The  Press  is  better  advised  to-day.  None  of 
the  leading  newspapers  send  gentlemen  of  literary  taste, 
or  dramatic  instinct,  to  criticise  Tom  Peters'  musical 
comedies. 

The  opening  chorus  went  well,  as  far  as  one  could  hear  it 
for  the  late  comers.  The  early  inanities  were  well  received, 
and,  before  Kitty  Golden's  first  solo  relieved  the  situation, 
the  social  spirit  of  the  stalls  and  boxes  provoked  the  enmity 
of  the  cheaper  seats.  But  Kitty  was  a  popular  favourite, 
she  held  her  place  firmly,  and  commanded  silence  ;  so  did 
the  hero,  and  the  leading  comedian,  and  the  lady  who  played 
up  to  him.  The  French  importation  was  the  first  novelty, 
and  she  was  listened  to  with  attention.  She  was  arch,  very 
arch,  but,  nevertheless,  her  song  fell  a  little  flat,  it  touched 
the  limit  of  triviality,  and  the  silly  refrain  matched  the 
silly  context. 

The  house  apparently  caught  cold;  one  could  hear  it 
clearing  its  throat  and  beginning  to  cough.  It  was  an  in- 
auspicious moment  for  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  delay  her  appearance. 

She  had  passed  a  bad  night,  giving  up  herself  and  her 
chances  as  lost.  She  had  sobbed  herself  to  sleep  about  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  But  then  she  had  slept  uninter- 
ruptedly for  nearly  eight  hours.  The  world  seemed  all 
bright  again  to  her  when  she  awoke,  and  she  had  forgotten 
what  had  made  her  cry  so  last  night.  There  were  flowers 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

from  Kiddie,  with  a  note,  saying  he  was  fetching  her  for 
lunch  at  one,  and  afterwards  she  was  to  have  a  spin  in  the 
motor ;  she  was  to  do  no  work  that  day.  There  was  also  a 
note  from  Edgar,  saying  how  clever  she  had  been  last  night 
not  to  let  herself  go,  it  was  much  better  to  surprise  them 
to-night.  But  he  .thought  she  had  been  very  good  all  the 
same. 

"  Very  good  ! " 

It  was  extraordinary,  she  thought  she  had  been  hope- 
lessly bad.  She  was  bewildered,  but  quite  ready  to  be- 
lieve it  was  true.  She  was  to  do  no  work,  but,  before  she 
dressed  for  lunch,  she  practised  her  song  and  a  few  steps 
of  her  dance  in  front  of  the  glass  in  her  room.  In  her 
morning  gaiety  and  renewed  spirits,  her  voice  came  back, 
and,  in  her  petticoat  slip,  with  her  hair  hanging  down,  she 
looked  charming,  and,  what  was  more  important,  she  knew 
she  looked  charming.  She  executed  quite  a  spontaneous, 
original  little  dance  of  her  own,  and  felt  as  assured  of  suc- 
cess to-night  as  she  had  been  of  failure  last  evening. 

Fortunately,  she  remained  in  this  mood  all  day,  through 
the  gay  little  luncheon,  and  the  sprint  to  Richmond. 
Kiddie  hardly  let  her  out  of  his  sight.  He  praised  her  all 
the  time,  in  accordance  with  Edgar's  suggestion.  Edgar 
came  up  to  the  flat  at  tea-time,  and  he  too  praised  her,  pre- 
dicting a  furore.  She  was  amazed  again  to  hear  how  good 
she  had  been  at  rehearsal,  and  she  promised  herself  that  if 
they  thought  her  good  then,  they  should  think  her  a  lot 
better  to-night. 

The  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring  who  made  her  bow  to  a 
West  End  audience,  for  the  first  time,  was  none  but  Sally 
Snape,  gay,  careless,  and  self-assured.  The  gallery  cheered 
her  before  she  opened  her  mouth ;  Edgar's  claque  was  there. 
She  gave  them  her  familiar,  welcoming,  nod  and  smile.  It 
seemed  to  say,  "  See  here,  what  I'm  going  to  do  for  you ; 

222 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

hold  your  noise  till  I  show  you."  What  voice  she  had  was 
as  clear  as  a  bell,  every  word  was  heard,  every  note  told. 
Then  her  dancing  !  For  sheer  grace  and  spontaneity,  in- 
spired by  an  obvious  personal  enjoyment  and  delight,  noth- 
ing like  it  had  been  seen  in  London  for  years.  She  danced 
and  she  danced,  and  the  house,  after  the  first  curious  silence 
and  surprise,  rose  at  her,  shouted  for  her,  applauded  without 
restraint  or  reserve.  She  was  one  with  them,  her  feet  never 
stopped.  It  was  not  a  dance  she  was  doing,  she  was  the 
very  incarnation  of  the  Dance-Spirit.  All  the  time  she 
danced  she  was  smiling,  singing  the  chorus  of  her  little 
song  under  her  breath,  her  red  hair  was  whirling  round,  and 
she  was  tossing  it  off  her  face  with  that  little  familiar 
movement,  and  .  .  . 

Well !  It  was  the  greatest  success  Tom  had  ever  had. 
Sally's  dance  was  the  moment  of  the  first  act ;  but  it 
had  put  the  audience  in  good  humour,  and  the  fate  of  the 
revival  was  never  in  doubt  after  that. 

Tom  patted  her  on  the  back  when  she  came  off,  and  said 
she  was  "  a  good  girl."  Edgar  boasted  :  "  What  did  I  tell 
you?"  Kiddie's  face  in  the  stalls  looked  very  white. 
And  from  a  pittite,  in  an  incongruous  red  jersey  and  peaked 
cap,  came  clapping,  which  lasted  even  after  the  resounding 
applause  had  died  away. 

The  second  act  showed  her  already  an  established  favour- 
ite ;  everything  she  did  was  encored.  The  end  of  the  piece 
saw  her  in  a  whirl  of  smiling  faces,  congratulatory  words  and 
cordial  handshakes.  She  seemed  to  be  surrounded,  hemmed 
in  by  people  telling  her  she  was  a  genius,  inviting  her 
out,  and  generally  making  much  of  her.  They  were  capti- 
vated by  her  ingenuous  pleasure  in  what  she  had  done.  She 
was  so  gaily,  so  childishly,  glad  she  had  danced  well,  and 
been  applauded. 

She  had  supper  with  dozens  of  people ;  it  seemed  to  her 

223 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

that  all  the  world  was  there.  It  was  the  author's  party, 
and  he,  as  well  as  every  one  else,  said  the  nicest  possible 
things  to  her. 

It  is  difficult  to  distinguish  the  "  author "  of  a  musical 
comedy  from  the  man  who  composed  the  music,  the  man 
who  wrote  the  lyrics,  the  man  who  provided  some  of  the 
occasional  numbers,  and  the  man  who  wrote  the  others. 
But  they  were  all  alike  in  their  kindness  to  Sally.  They  all 
talked  at  once,  and  they  all  drank  at  once,  generously. 
Kitty  Golden  was  there,  and  two  of  the  quartette.  Sally 
could  never  quite  disentangle  the  party;  and  it  lasted  so 
many  hours.  It  was  past  two  when  Kiddie  came  up  to  her  ; 
she  was  feeling  rather  dazed,  and  he  said  authoritatively : 

"  You  mustn't  overdo  it.  Don't  forget  to-morrow  night ; 
you've  been  through  quite  enough  for  one  day.  I  am  going 
to  take  you  home  now." 

Edgar  pleaded  for  another  half-hour.  Tom  said  Lord 
Kidderminster  was  quite  right.  Miss  Sarita  must  not 
overdo  it ;  she  was  beginning  to  look  tired.  Then  there 
followed  enthusiastic  "  good  nights,"  and  more  congratula- 
tions. The  women  would  have  kissed  her,  only  Sally  so 
obviously  did  not  look  for  it.  She  stood  upright,  with  a 
sense  of  isolation  about  her,  even  now,  a  spiritual  some- 
thing, indefinable,  but  they  felt  it.  They  went  in  a  body 
to  see  her  off.  Edgar  grinned  and  said  something  to  Tom. 
Tom  frowned  and  made  no  answer  to  him. 

"You  go  and  get  your  things,"  Tom  said  to  the  little 
French  girl,  the  new  importation,  whose  second  song  had 
gone  so  much  better  than  her  first,  and  justified  him.  "  I'll 
drop  you  at  your  rooms." 

"  Very  nice  for  me !  But  who  am  I  to  drop  at  their 
rooms  ?  "  Edgar  complained. 

But  for  Edgar  there  were  congenial  spirits  among  the  party. 
His  indecorous  wit  soon  found  the  soil  in  which  to  flourish. 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Sally  was  too  excited  to  feel  tired,  and  Kiddie  was  husky 
and  silent. 

"Pull  that  cloak  close  round  you.  You  must  not  catch 
cold."  He  put  her  cloak  more  closely  round  her  when  they 
were  in  the  brougham,  and  his  arm  with  it. 

Sally  did  not  resent  it ;  she  was  too  happy  to  resent  a  little 
thing  like  that.  She  talked  of  her  dance,  of  what  she  had 
felt  about  it  after  the  rehearsal,  of  the  supper  they  had  had, 
and  the  evening  generally.  Kiddie's  arm,  pressing  always 
more  closely,  more  tightly  around  her,  was  an  inconvenience, 
nothing  more. 

He  came  upstairs  when  they  got  to  Tillery  Mansions. 
She  heard  him  tell  the  coachman  he  need  not  wait;  but 
she  attached  no  importance  to  that. 

"Are  you  coming  in  ?  "  she  asked  lightly,  perhaps  a  little 
surprised,  as  she  unlocked  the  door  with  her  key.  "It's 
getting  awfully  late,  isn't  it  ?  But  I  do  believe  I'm  too 
excited  to  sleep." 

The  flat  was  in  darkness,  and  Sally  fumbled  for  the  switch 
of  the  electric  light,  talking  all  the  while.  Then  it  was 
that  Kiddie  seized  hold  of  her,  his  husky  voice  pitched  very 
low: 

"Don't  turn  on  the  light  yet,  don't.  Sarita,  give  me  a 
kiss  ;  you've  never  kissed  me." 

Sally  pushed  him  away  with  her  elbow.  Now  she  had 
found  the  switch,  the  passage  was  lighted,  and  the  sitting- 
room  door  open. 

"  What  rubbish  you're  saying.  What's  the  matter  with 
you,  you  look  quite  pale  ?  "  She  smiled  at  him ;  the  smile 
irradiated  her.  "  I  say,  you  are  in  a  funny  humour ;  what's 
come  over  you  ?  You've  come  upstairs  too  quick." 

The  fire  was  still  smouldering  in  the  sitting-room,  the 
light  from  the  passage  warred  with  its  sombre  glow.  Kiddie 
followed  her  into  the  room.  They  were  really  little  more 
Q  225 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

than  boy  and  girl.  He  had  been  waiting  all  the  evening 
for  this  moment.  To  her  the  evening  and  its  triumph  were 
over.  She  could  see  that  he  was  still  labouring  under  some 
excitement,  but  she  did  not  realize  its  nature. 

"  I'm  not  really  tired,  it's  only  my  feet."  She  sat  down 
on  the  sofa.  "  It  has  been  a  day  !  " 

"  Take  your  shoes  off,"  he  said,  rather  hoarsely.  He 
kneeled  to  take  them  off  for  her. 

She  jumped  up  quickly,  and  the  old  speech,  almost  a 
touch  of  the  old  sullenness,  came  over  her. 

"  I  can't  abide  being  touched." 

"  I  didn't  mean  any  harm." 

His  breath  came  laboriously,  and  his  eyes  and  mouth 
looked  strange  to  her.  He  pulled  her  down  beside  him  on 
the  sofa ;  he  grew  weak  all  at  once,  he  had  had  a  long  even- 
ing, and  kept  command  of  himself  a  long  time,  he  felt  the 
strain  most  at  this  moment,  when  it  was  relaxed. 

"  Be  kind  to  me,"  he  said,  "  be  kind  to  me."  He  put  his 
arms  about  her. 

She  shrank  from  him,  only  instinctively.  Hardly  a 
glimmer  of  his  meaning  had  come  to  her  yet,  that  shrinking 
was  quite  involuntary.  She  let  him  hold  her  a  minute, 
although  she  did  not  like  it.  And  she  smiled  into  his  pale 
face  and  gleaming  eyes  : 

"  Of  course  I'll  be  kind  to  you.  .  .  ." 

At  that  his  arms  tightened  around  her,  pressing  her 
shrinking  form,  and  his  hot  lips  caught  and  fastened  on  hers, 
fastened  hungrily.  For  an  instant  she  was  too  surprised, 
startled,  and  frightened  to  defend  herself.  But  it  was  only 
an  instant :  there  was  no  enemy  within  to  weaken  her, 
there  was  not  an  inch  of  yielding  in  her.  She  struggled 
passionately,  frantically,  unmistakably  to  free  herself  from 
him.  .  .  .  He  let  her  go  at  last : 

"  You  knew  I  loved  you,"  he  said  hoarsely.  He  had 

226 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

been  almost  overwhelming,  she  was  a  little  spent  with  re- 
sisting him,  a  little  breathless.  There  was  a  sob  in  her 
throat,  not  of  weakness,  only  of  anger;  but  it  held  her 
speechless.  He  misinterpreted  it,  and  would  have  held 
her  again : 

"  You've  known  all  along  that  I  loved  you,"  he  said,  as 
if  in  justification.  She  sprang  to  her  feet : 

"  No,  I  didn't ;  no,  I  haven't.  I  never  thought  nothing 
about  it."  Now  both  of  them  were  standing.  "  Don't  you 
dare  to  come  anigh  me." 

"  I'll  have  another  kiss  if  I  die  for  it." 

Wine  was  still  working  in  him,  and  all  the  evening  only 
his  senses  had  been  stimulated.  She  had  to  fight  him, 
she  had  boasted  so  often  that  she  could  take  care  of  her- 
self;  now  was  the  time  to  show  it.  And  she  proved  it, 
up  to  the  hilt ;  he  gained  nothing.  The  struggle  was  short, 
sharp,  decisive.  There  was  no  womanliness  in  her  yet 
to  meet  his  manhood.  This  failed  quite  soon,  rejected, 
contemptuously  and  angrily  scorned.  It  was  Lord  Kidder- 
minster who  flung  himself  on  the  sofa  now,  hid  his  face  in 
the  cushion,  and  began  to  sob  weakly. 

Silence  fell  between  them  in  the  dusky  firelight  of  the 
room.  Sally  had  been  more  moved  than  she  understood, 
more  frightened,  perhaps,  than  she  knew  or  acknowledged. 
Perhaps  something  had  been  born  in  her  when  that  first 
hot  kiss  surprised  her.  She  felt  her  legs  trembling,  her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  The  silence  became  unbearable. 

"  You'd  best  go,"  she  said. 

Kiddie  failed  to  answer. 

"  You've  spoiled  my  evening,"  she  repeated.  "  I  don't 
want  you  here  any  more." 

He  could  not  pull  himself  together  as  quickly  as  she. 
It  was  all  so  unexpected.  He  was  so  unused  to  contra- 
diction. But  also,  above  all  things,  as  she  struggled  in 

227 


THE   HEART   OF   A  CHILD 

his  arms,  and  he  had  realized,  all  at  once,  that  the 
struggle  was  a  real  one,  that  this  was  no  feint  of  modesty, 
there  had  flooded  over  him  a  new  feeling,  a  tenderness 
almost  unbearable,  a  self-hatred  and  contempt.  It  was 
not  that  her  strength  had  vanquished  his ;  it  was  his  own 
tenderness  that  sapped  his  strength.  It  was  love  that  came 
to  him  in  that  strange  moment,  weakening  him.  His  pride 
went  down  under  it.  Only  once  or  twice  in  all  his  two-and- 
twenty  years  had  his  pride  left  him,  and  in  its  place  there 
had  been  humility.  This  had  been  in  moments  when  the 
encompassing  and  unselfish  love  his  mother  bore  him  had 
been  revealed  in  some  small  action,  or  in  some  unexpected 
word.  This  mother-love  had  made  Lord  Kidderminster 
what  he  was ;  on  the  ever-swelling  tide  of  it  he  had  floated 
times  and  oft  out  of  danger. 

All  at  once  it  made  Sally  Snape's  safety.  Although  they 
were  alone  within  these  four  walls,  she  was  as  safe  from 
him  as  if  his  mother  were  there  to  guard  her.  His  face 
was  buried,  he  did  not  hear  Sally  speaking.  For  weeks 
he  had  been  haunted  and  inflamed  by  this  red-haired,  pale- 
faced  girl ;  he  had  not  paused  to  think  of  where  his  feel- 
ings would  land  him.  Why  should  he  ?  Even  now  that 
thought  came :  why  should  he  ?  He  had  done  many 
things  for  her;  every  one  thought  she  was  his,  she  was 
his  by  many  rights.  A  Verandah  Theatre  girl !  He  had 
taken  this  flat  for  her,  everything  in  the  situation  had  been 
ordinary  .  .  .  almost  ordinary !  Now  his  cheeks  burned 
that  he  had  thought  this. 

"  Aren't  you  going  ? "  said  Sally  again.  She  was  so 
surprised  she  did  not  hate  him,  she  could  think  of  nothing 
but  that.  She  wished  he  would  get  up,  she  believed  he 
was  crying  ;  he  had  been  very,  very  kind  to  her. 

"  Give  me  a  minute,"  he  said  presently,  "  give  me  a 
minute."  But  he  sat  up,  and  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  wet. 

228 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"  Pin  sorry  if  I  hurt  you,"  she  got  out,  she  was  prone  to 
over-rate  her  physical  strength. 

"  You  hurt  me  in  so  many  ways,"  he  answered  dully  with 
involuntary  candour. 

It  was  wonderful  how  quiet  the  atmosphere  had  suddenly 
grown  between  them.  Sally's  instinct  knew  it;  she  no 
longer  urged  him  to  go.  She  really  smiled  at  him  again, 
through  the  trembling  mist  of  her  unready  tears. 

"  You  deserved  it,"  she  answered  quickly. 

He  rose  to  go,  he  wanted  to  get  away  now.  But  he 
knew  that  he  had  not  been  wooing  his  mistress,  he  had  been 
attempting  the  virtue  of  a  virtuous  girl.  And  he  was 
ashamed.  Her  simplicity  and  directness  had  never  varied. 
She  had  not  coquetted  with,  nor  purposely  allured,  him. 
If  she  had  taken  something  from  him,  it  was  unconsciously. 
He  knew  that ;  she  had  neither  given,  nor  promised,  return. 

"  You  won't  give  up  the  flat  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  take  leave  of  her. 

"I'd  like  it  to  myself,"  she  retorted,  but  not  very  con- 
vincingly. 

"  I'm  going,  I'm  going  at  once.  Sarita  ...  if  things  had 
been  different  .  .  .  ?  You  don't  really  dislike  me,  do  you  ?  " 

Not  one  of  the  girls  he  knew,  not  one  of  those  that  were 
equal  to  him  in  birth,  had  held  him  off,  and  won  his  respect, 
more  than  his  respect,  as  this  girl  from  the  gutter.  What 
if  he  ...  a  great  thought  struck  him!  He  stooped  hur- 
riedly, he  kissed  her  hand,  Sally  Snape's  hand.  It  was 
quite  soft,  and  the  look  she  gave  him  was  soft  too;  to 
palliate  the  distress  in  his  looks. 

"  Don't  hate  me,"  were  his  last  words. 

He  got  away  hurriedly,  and  ran  downstairs.  He  knew 
he  was  in  a  mood  to  do  something  desperately  foolish; 
he  had  been  so  seldom  denied,  she  looked  so  pale  .  .  .  and 
Sweet, 

329 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  next  morning,  and  all  that  week,  Sally's  dance, 
her  song,  her  hair,  her  figure,  were  prominent  in 
the  theatrical  columns  of  the  daily  and  weekly  papers. 
Sally's  flat  was  besieged  by  photographers,  and  her  letter- 
box filled  with  press-cuttings.  She  was  very  bewildered, 
and  uncertain  how  to  take  the  good  fortune,  and,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  ubiquitous  Edgar,  she  might  have  ruined 
her  brilliant  career  at  the  outset,  or  so  he  told  her,  by 
giving  too  many  interviews,  sitting  to  the  wrong  photo- 
grapher, and  being  too  easily  accessible.  However,  he 
put  her  right  on  all  these  points,  he  found  her  very 
amenable,  very  obedient.  In  truth,  her  mind  was  full  of 
many  things. 

She  did  not  see  Kiddie  for  a  week,  that  week  in  which 
her  fame  grew,  and  the  Verandah  was  crammed  nightly  by 
old  men  and  young,  to  whom  had  spread  the  rumour  of  her 
grace  and  form,  her  dancing  and  the  spirit  of  her ;  a  week 
in  which  she  saw  much,  and  learnt  something.  It  was 
her  first  week  on  the  musical  comedy  stage,  it  was  indeed  a 
strange  world  in  which  she  found  herself. 

Life  on  the  musical  comedy  stage,  with  its  curious  lack 
of  reticence,  its  odd  etiquette  and  idiosyncrasies,  puzzled 
her,  and  distracted  her  simplicity.  What  she  failed  to 
understand  she  simply  accepted.  There  were  dozens  and 
dozens  of  girls  around  her,  pretty,  ugly,  young,  and  old. 
At  first  the  majority  of  them  cold-shouldered  her ;  she  was 
in  the  position  of  a  new  boy  at  a  public  school,  tolerably 

230 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

happy  in  being  here  at  all,  but  with  that  only  as  compensa- 
tion. Gradually  she  learnt  that  all  the  pretty  girls  had 
"  friends,"  whom  they  called  their  "  boys  " ;  some  had  only 
one,  but  others  were  less  exclusive.  These  young  men  or 
boys  had  season-tickets  for  the  stalls.  The  Kittys,  and 
Lenas,  and  Zillas,  and  Mauclies  lunched  or  supped  with 
them,  went  for  drives  on  Sundays,  demanded  much,  took 
everything,  and  prided  themselves  on  giving  nothing. 

The  majority  of  them  were  "good"  girls.  They  put 
some  meaning  into  this  word  to  preserve  their  self-respect, 
and  yet  deprive  them  of  none  of  the  entertainment  which 
their  lives  seemed  to  render  necessary.  They  lived  in  the 
glare  of  the  footlights,  night-lives,  filled  with  small  excite- 
ments. They  came  from  poor  homes,  and  lived  alternately 
in  luxury  and  poverty.  They  would  sup  with  their  "  boys  " 
at  the  Savoy  on  foie  gras  and  champagne  one  night,  and 
the  next,  as  contentedly,  at  Brixton  or  Putney,  they  would 
eat  trotters,  washed  down  with  beer,  in  the  company  of 
father,  brother,  and  mother  of  the  honest  working  classes. 
They  kept  themselves  respectable.  This  was  their  shib- 
boleth, whilst  they  wore  jewellery  for  which  they  had 
practically  asked,  and  fine  clothes  for  which  they  had  no 
means  or  intention  of  paying.  They  accounted  themselves 
virtuous  by  reason  of  this  non-paying  ! 

Tom  Peters  had  a  paternal  eye  on  them;  they  had  gradu- 
ated on  his  and  Edgar's  good  advice.  The  pith  of  it  was 
that  they  were  to  wait  for  their  price.  Neither  beauty  nor 
talent  escaped  the  vigilance  of  these  two.  The  young  ones, 
the  new-comers,  were  well  looked  after,  and  their  records 
noted.  A  standard  of  conduct  was  required,  and  kept  at 
the  theatre;  out  of  it  a  standard  of  commercialism  was 
always  understood  as  desirable. 

"Be  good  girls;  don't  give  yourselves  away,"  perhaps 
best  sums  up  Tom's  instructions.  The  bulk  of  the  chorus 

231 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

understood  what  was  expected  of  them,  and  obeyed  in- 
structions ;  they  were  "  as  good  as  they  knew  how." 

There  were  two  or  three  notorious  exceptions  —  girls, 
drawing  one  pound  a  week  in  salary,  who  drove  to  re- 
hearsals in  broughams  or  motors.  These  had  no  young 
men  in  attendance.  They  were  like  Eton  boys  who  had 
got  into  "pop";  secretly  envied,  openly  maligned,  dis- 
cussed constantly,  every  act  and  gesture  criticised.  They 
were  outside  the  esprit  de  corps  that  bound  together  the 
rest  of  the  band. 

At  first  all  looked  askance  at  Sally.  She  was  difficult 
to  understand.  She  worked  hard,  harder  than  any  of 
the  others,  at  rehearsal,  at  practising  her  dances  and  songs, 
at  mending  and  making  her  wardrobe.  Her  little  flat 
was  the  pink  of  neatness.  She  was  a  born  dancer,  but  her 
singing  was  safe  only  in  chorus  or  concerted  pieces.  Her 
voice  came  and  went,  it  was  never  quite  placed.  As  one 
of  the  four  "Pear  Drops,"  or  one  of  the  five  "Brides- 
maids," she  did  all  that  was  required  of  her.  She  could 
join  in  "The  Candy  on  the  Cake,"  or  "We're  the  Sugar 
on  the  Bun,  we're  the  Sugar  on  the  Hot-Cross  Bun,"  but 
as  a  soloist  she  was  not  dependable.  They  had  to  cut  out  one 
of  her  songs  before  she  had  been  singing  it  a  week ;  and  this 
made  her  an  object  of  sympathy  behind  the  scenes.  But 
Sally  accepted  the  change  without  making  a  fuss.  They 
gave  her  instead  another  solo  dance,  and  she  was  encored 
in  it  nightly.  She  was  a  "  good  girl,"  and  Tom  and  Edgar 
both  praised  her.  For,  if  she  had  made  a  fuss,  Kiddie 
might  have  backed  her  up,  and  Kiddie  was  running  the 
show. 

In  the  meantime  where  was  Kiddie  ? 

Kiddie  was  passing  through  a  bad  time,  and  doing  it 
characteristically.  He  had  promised  himself  to  put  Sarita 
Mainwaring  out  of  his  head.  He  was  no  seducer,  no 

232 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

villain,  only  a  young  man  with  his  code  of  ethics  unformu- 
lated,  and  his  opinion  of  all  women,  except  his  mother  and 
sisters,  a  little  out  of  focus. 

He  had  been  rudely  awakened  that  evening  at  Tillery 
Mansions ;  but  he  was  not  ready  to  open  his  eyes  fully. 
He  had  passed  a  very  restless,  disturbed,  and  unsatisfactory 
night  after  the  premiere  at  the  Verandah.  The  wildest 
thoughts  came  to  him,  only  to  be  thrust  on  one  side,  and 
rejected  when  daylight  dawned.  After  a  day  of  doubt  and 
uncertainty,  a  day  in  which  three  times  he  started  for  the 
flat,  and  each  time  altered  his  mind  halfway,  he  hurriedly 
took  the  line  of  least  resistance,  which  seemed  to  be  the 
afternoon  train  to  Paris.  It  was  an  eminently  common- 
•place  thing  to  do,  but  then,  and  up  to  now,  in  all  externals 
Gilbert  Taylour  Burnarshain,  Lord  Kidderminster,  was  an 
extremely  ordinary,  not  to  say  commonplace,  young  man. 

That  week  in  Paris  he  took  his  corrective,  as  correc- 
tive should  be  taken,  very  thoroughly.  But  at  the  end 
of  the  week  he  felt  like  a  man  who  needed  a  physician, 
and  had  been  treated  by  a  quack.  He  was  no  better ; 
his  worst  symptoms  were  unabated.  He  still  felt  weak, 
with  the  capacity  to  make  a  fool  of  himself.  Sarita 
Mainwaring's  hair  and  eyes,  her  smile  and  figure,  haunted 
his  dreams  and  his  waking.  And  the  thought  that  had 
driven  him  from  London  stayed  with  him  in  Paris. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  he  came  back.  He  avoided 
the  theatre,  although  he  could  not  avoid  hearing  about 
Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring.  Her  name  was  on  all  the  hoard- 
ings, and,  although  he  dined  at  Arthur's,  and  played  bridge 
afterwards,  he  could  not  get  away  from  it.  It  seemed  to 
follow  him  everywhere.  Some  one  said  he  had  heard  she 
was  "  quite  straight."  Another  youngster  replied  callously: 
"  Well,  that  won't  last  long.  They've  got  no  use  for  prudes 
at  the  Verandah." 

233 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

And  Kiddie  suddenly  found  the  club  dull  and  bridge 
a  bore.  He  went  early  to  bed,  and  for  the  eighth  consecu- 
tive night  he  was  restless. 

A  late  breakfast,  an  irresolute  morning,  found  him  at 
Curzon  Street  in  time  for  lunch.  Lady  Dorothea  had 
missed  him.  She  told  him  so  quite  frankly,  after  keeping 
him  waiting  until  two-thirty,  and  then  coming  in  from  the 
park  with  Sir  Clement  Dowling.  The  butler  had  told  him 
her  ladyship  had  ordered  luncheon  for  two. 

"  Hullo !  Kiddie,  back  at  last !  Where  on  earth  have 
you  been  ?  Dissipating,  of  course.  I've  missed  you  dread- 
fully. Now  I  see  you  in  the  light,  you  have  been  dissipat- 
ing. You  look  quite  seedy.  You  shall  tell  me  all  about 
it  after  luncheon.  Just  wait  while  I  take  my  hat  off;  I 
shan't  be  five  minutes." 

She  was  away  for  fifteen.  In  the  meantime  the  two  young 
men  exchanged  monosyllables.  There  is  no  conversational 
bridge  between  Stonyhurst  and  Eton,  until  more  years 
than  these  two  boasted  have  served  to  build  one. 

Kiddie  was  annoyed  at  being  told  he  looked  dissipated. 
He  was  annoyed,  too,  at  finding  Sir  Clement  Dowling  in 
possession,  and  Colonel  Fellowes  absent.  He  had  come 
here  chiefly  in  the  hope  of  meeting  the  Colonel,  and  the 
gauche  and  silent  young  Baronet  was  a  most  indifferent 
substitute. 

"  Where  is  Fellowes  ?  "  he  asked  Dorothea,  as  he  fol- 
lowed her  into  the  dining-room. 

Dorothea  had  changed  her  walking  dress  for  a  diaphanous 
tea  gown.  She  looked  extraordinarily  pretty  and  wicked, 
and  it  irritated  Kiddie  to  think  it  was  for  Sir  Clement  she 
had  thus  arrayed  herself. 

"  If  you  hadn't  been  hiding  yourself  from  all  your  friends 
for  the  last  fortnight  you'd  have  known  Freddy  was  away. 
He's  gone  for  a  week's  shooting  with  two  old  cronies." 

234 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"What  a  disloyal  wretch  you  are,  Dolly,"  he  said  sotto 
voce.  "And,  by  the  way,  I've  only  been  away  a  week, 
the  inside  of  a  week." 

They  got  through  lunch,  during  which  they  played 
battledore  and  shuttlecock  with  frank  speech,  to  Sir  Clem- 
ent's great  annoyance.  On  the  whole  Kiddie  was  bet- 
ter entertained  than  he  had  been  for  some  time.  There 
was  no  doubt  Dolly  could  make  herself  very  fascinating  if 
she  chose.  What  she  chose  just  now,  whether  to  excite 
Sir  Clement's  jealousy,  or  with  some  less  simple  motive, 
was  to  fascinate  Lord  Kidderminster.  And  she  had  quite 
a  small  success.  The  boy  was  really  rather  miserable. 
Dolly's  kindness  to  him  warmed  his  heart,  and  seeing 
Sir  Clement  Dowling  snubbed  for  his  sake,  helped  back 
some  of  his  self-esteem. 

After  lunch  she  dismissed  Clement,  too,  quite  peremp- 
torily. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  Kiddie,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sure  you  don't 
mind ;  Kiddie  and  I  haven't  seen  each  other  for  so  long." 

Perhaps  Sir  Clement  did  mind;  yet  he  had  no  choice 
but  to  go.  Then  Dolly  arranged  herself  on  the  sofa  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  bade  Kiddie  come  and  sit  by  her  and 
tell  her  all  about  everything.  Of  course,  she  was  in  need 
of  his  cousinly  cheque-book,  but  that  was  not  the  atmo- 
sphere she  created. 

"  What  a  bore  that  fellow  is !  I  wonder  you  can  stick 
him." 

"  He's  very  devoted." 

"  Has  Fellowes  gone  away  because  of  his  devotion  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  such  a  silly  boy.  Freddy  is  a  man  of  the 
world." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that.  Do  you  mean 
he  isn't  jealous ;  that  he  doesn't  mind  if  you've  got  other 
fellows  hanging  about  you  ?  " 

235 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"He  knows  what  an  over-rated  virtue  fidelity  is.  At 
best  it  means  boredom;  you  can't  always  eat  the  same 
food,  even  if  it's  truffles." 

"You  don't  mean  you  are  going  to  throw  over  Freddy 
Fellowes  for  a  chap  like  Dowling ! " 

"I  never  throw  anybody  over.  I  only  sometimes  in- 
crease my  circle  of  friends.  How  crude  you  are." 

"  I  can't  understand  you.     Don't  you  believe  in  love  ?  " 

"I  don't  believe  in  anything  else.  But  the  game  is  mo- 
notonous if  you  always  play  against  the  same  antagonist, 
and  you  know  every  stroke  and  counter-stroke." 

"  You  call  it  a  game." 

"Don't  you?" 

"No." 

He  blurted  out  his  denial ;  he  was  not  a  young  man  who 
thought  quickly  as  a  rule,  but  already  he  knew  love  was 
no  game.  The  knowledge  of  its  power,  which  had  kept  him 
awake  all  these  nights,  and  now  hammered  at  his  temples, 
impelled  him  to  words.  He  wished  Dolly  would  not  be  so 
flippant ;  he  would  have  liked  to  question  her.  After  all, 
she  was  a  woman,  and  a  beautiful  one.  Poor  Kiddie  knew 
so  little,  although  he  imagined  himself  fully  experienced. 
How  did  women  feel  ?  He  began  to  ask  her  questions. 

Dorothea  could  not  talk  of  love  without  making  love. 
She  became  alluring;  even  Kiddie,  with  his  heart  and 
head  full  of  Sarita,  could  recognize  the  note  she  sounded, 
and  its  appeal.  To  a  limited  extent,  he  even  responded. 
He  could  not  sit  quiet,  he  moved  restlessly  about  the  room 
as  he  talked. 

They  discussed  the  philosophy  of  love,  they  spoke  its 
platitudes ;  but  love  was  scarcely  the  right  word,  although 
they  used  it.  Her  eyes  were  inviting,  her  speech  was  loose. 
There  was  something  unmoral  about  Dorothea.  One  would 
have  credited  her  with  a  profession,  and  said  she  knew  it  well. 

236 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Why  have  you  never  cared  about  me  ?  "  she  said  to 
Kiddie  presently.  "  I  wish  you'd  leave  off  walking  about 
and  couie  and  sit  quietly  by  me.  I  can  talk  ever  so  much 
better  if  you  sit  here."  She  made  room  for  him  again  on 
the  sofa.  Of  course  he  was  flattered  when  she  went  on  : 

"I  always  wish  you  made  love  to  me,  Kiddie,  I  know 
you  would  do  it  so  well." 

"  Haven't  you  got  enough  men  around  you  ?  "  was  never- 
theless all  he  could  find  to  say. 

"I  couldn't  have  enough.  Now,  don't  frown,  don't  try 
and  look  stern."  She  put  her  hand  on  his.  "Other  women 
like  cards,  gambling,  racing,  other  women  drink.  I  haven't 
any  of  these  vices.  I  only  like  men.  There's  nothing 
to  look  disgusted  about ;  it's  a  taste,  like  any  other,  old 
china  for  instance,  or  foreign  stamps.  What  a  boy  you 
are,  Kiddie,  and  a  prig,  just  the  least  bit  of  a  prig.  You're 
looking  at  my  hand,  and  you  don't  kiss  it.  Yet  I  could 
be  great  friends  with  you.  .  .  ." 

"  Don't,  Dolly,  you  don't  know  how  I  hate  it." 

Whether  he  hated  it  or  not,  it  did  not  drive  him  away 
from  Curzon  Street.  He  was  no  better  than  the  majority 
of  young  men,  and  very  little  different.  When  one's  mind 
is  full  of  one  subject,  it  is  not  unpleasant  to  be  told  inti- 
mate things  about  it.  There  is  a  fascination  about  forbid- 
den things,  even  if  you  do  not  want  them. 

Kiddie  stayed  all  that  afternoon ;  the  beautiful  drawing- 
room  growing  dimmer  as  the  afternoon  closed.  No  one 
disturbed  them,  the  household  knew  Lady  Dolly's  ways. 
It  was  five  o'clock  before  she  rang  for  tea,  and  Kiddie 
hated  himself  rather  more  than  he  had  when  he  came  in. 

At  tea  time,  because  one  must  talk  of  something,  Kiddie 
told  Dolly  of  his  meeting  with  Sarita  Main  waring,  and 
her  recognition  of  him  as  the  donor  of  Sally  Snape's  pre- 
mium. 

237 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Dolly  was  very  interested,  and  suggested  that,  after  tea, 
they  should  walk  round  to  Brook  Street,  and  ask  Vi  Far- 
quharson  about  her.  Kiddie  consenting,  she  kept  him 
waiting  another  three  quarters  of  an  hour  whilst  she 
changed  her  dress  again. 

The  establishment  in  Brook  Street  had  now  a  man  in 
gorgeous  livery  to  open  carriage-doors,  and  a  special  con- 
stable to  regulate  the  traffic.  There  was  a  string  of  car- 
riages reaching  almost  into  Bond  Street,  and  the  large  rooms 
were  full  of  acquaintances.  But  Vi  came  forward  to  greet 
Dorothea.  She  knew  her  well,  they  spoke  a  little  of  Vi's  boy 
at  Eton,  the  people  who  were  in  the  reception  room,  of 
Kiddie's  mother,  and  her  movements.  Then,  carelessly 
enough,  Dolly  said: 

"  By  the  way,  since  we  are  here,  you'd  better  give  Kiddie 
my  account,  Vi.  It's  about  the  only  chance  you've  got 
of  getting  it  settled.  And  I  want  to  ask  you  about  that 
girl  I  sent  here.  I  hear  she  has  gone  on  the  stage,  and 
is  making  an  enormous  success.  .  .  ." 

Vi  talked  about  the  stage  while  the  account  was  being 
made  out  for  Kiddie;  incidentally  she  spoke  slightingly 
of  the  girls  who  preferred  it  to  millinery.  She  spoke  as 
if  the  stage  were  but  an  euphemism.  Sarita's  child-like 
eyes  were  gazing  suddenly  into  Kiddie's;  in  one  strange 
moment  he  almost  visualized  her ;  the  voices,  the  women, 
the  shop-full  of  millinery  and  scented  furs  vanished,  and 
he  was  back  in  the  little  flat.  How  different  she  was.  .  .  . 

He  was  aroused  by  Mr.  Perry  coming  forward  to  com- 
pliment Lady  Dorothea  on  her  general  appearance  : 

"But  you  ought  to  have  had  that  sable  stole,  your 
ladyship,"  he  said  regretfully,  alluding  to  some  former 
visit,  going  into  details  to  explain  why  Russian  sable  was 
so  expensive. 

"  Lady  Dorothea  wants  to  hear  about  Miss  Snape,  Mr. 

238 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Perry.     It  seems  she  is  making  a  success  at  the  Verandah," 
Mrs.  Farquharson  said  to  him. 

As  all  London  was  talking  of  nothing  else,  Mr.  Perry 
was  not  surprised  to  hear  the  news.  But,  on  hearing  of 
Lady  Dorothea  Lytham's  interest,  Mr.  Perry's  eyes  sought 
his  lordship's ;  Kiddie's  were  inscrutable.  Mr.  Perry  went 
on  fluently : 

"  She  was  very  well  conducted  while  she  was  here,  quite 
exemplary  in  fact." 

"But  she  isn't  good-looking?"  Lady  Dorothea  inter- 
posed. 

"  There  are  always  ways  by  which  you  can  tell  if  a  girl 
is  flighty,"  he  said.  "  I  should  say  Miss  Snape  was  very 
steady,  she  did  not  care  for  admiration.  And  she  was  a 
very  industrious  girl.  I  wish  some  of  the  others  were 
more  like  her!" 

"Well!  I'm  glad  she  did  not  disgrace  my  recommenda- 
tion. I  shall  go  and  see  her  to-night." 

Lady  Dorothea  made  up  her  mind  quickly.  "  Come  on, 
Kiddie,  we'll  get  seats.  You  hope  to  dress  her,  I  suppose  ?  " 
she  said  to  Mr.  Perry.  Again  he  looked  at  his  lordship  be- 
fore replying,  respectfully  — 

"  She  has  had  one  or  two  things  from  us  already.  I 
think  we  have  succeeded  in  satisfying  her.  Perhaps  his 
lordship  has  heard  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  have  heard  ?  "  was  the  abrupt  response. 

Kiddie's  face  was  rather  flushed  when  they  got  out  of  the 
shop. 

"  I  hate  that  fellow  !  "  he  said  shortly. 

"  Who  ?  Mr.  Perry  ?  Why,  he  is  a  genius,  the  greatest 
sartorial  artist  of  our  day.  Don't  be  ill-tempered.  You 
can't  be  jealous  of  a  shop-walker !  " 

She  had  a  gift  of  quick  intuition,  although  it  went  only 
surface  deep. 

239 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

But  Kiddie  had  grown  restless  again;  as  they  walked 
to  the  booking-office  in  Bond  Street,  he  was  very  silent. 
Dolly  thought  he  was  resenting,  perhaps,  the  amount  of 
Madame  Violetta's  bill.  She  exerted  herself  to  rouse 
him. 

Bond  Street  was  full  of  well-dressed  people,  and  a 
crowded  traffic  of  carriages,  motors,  and  hansoms  fre- 
quently blocked  the  road.  Dorothea  gossiped  gaily  as  she 
walked,  reputations  were  as  brittle  glass  in  her  destruc- 
tive hands,  she  broke  them  one  by  one : 

"There  is  Lady  Cleeve.  She  has  got  her  new  baby 
and  the  nurse  with  her.  They  say  the  baby  is  black  — 
isn't  it  unlucky  ?  For  the  Kajah,  himself,  is  almost  fair. 
But  there  is  one  thing,  Cleeve  won't  mind.  I  swear  he 
hasn't  been  home  for  a  year.  That's  Lady  Bassett,  you 
know,  Gerald  Leslie's  first  wife ;  they  say  she  had  forty- 
nine  lovers  after  her  divorce  from  Gerald,  and  she  mar- 
ried recently  because  she  thought  her  daughter  would  be 
allowed  to  visit  her;  she  was  devoted  to  her  daughter. 
But  she  reckoned  without  the  mother-in-law;  Kim  Stuart's 
wife  has  to  pretend  she  never  had  a  mother.  But  I'm 
told  she  is  her  mother's  daughter,  nevertheless,  and  there 
will  be  a  scandal  in  her  smart  menage  quite  shortly  ! 
I'm  rather  sorry  for  Lady  Bassett ;  she  hasn't  done  worse 
than  other  people,  but  she  was  found  out  so  much  oftener. 
There  goes  my  sister,  the  Duchess,  in  her  new  car. 
Who  has  she  got  in  tow  now  ?  One  of  these  days  she 
will  cut  me,  see  if  she  doesn't.  She  has  the  same  tastes, 
but  .  .  ." 

They  got  the  stalls  for  the  Verandah,  although  not  with- 
out difficulty.  At  the  box  office  they  heard  the  same  stories 
the  papers  had  been  telling.  Tom  Peters  had  got  hold  of 
another  success.  "  In  Far  Cathay "  was  in  for  a  run. 
Had  they  seen  the  new  dancer  ? 

240 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

The  men  behind  the  counter  respectfully  informed  her 
ladyship,  who  was  gaily  inquisitive  and  familiar,  that 
Sir  William  D'Albiac  had  been  in  ten  minutes  ago  and 
said  it  reminded  him  of  his  young  days.  There  had 
not  been  such  dancing  in  London  since  Taglioni.  Dolly 
discussed  Sir  William's  age  with  the  man,  and  was  full 
of  it  when  they  walked  away. 

"He  must  be  over  ninety.  But  still,  Taglioni  was  an 
eighteenth-century  dancer,  wasn't  she?  Or  was  that 
Madame  Vestris?  I  haven't  got  a  bit  of  memory." 

They  dined  together  at  the  Eitz,  very  late.  Unpunctu- 
ality  was  one  of  Dolly's  particular  forms  of  selfishness. 
She  talked  all  through  dinner,  it  seemed  to  him  she 
never  ceased  talking.  And  it  was  all  society  gossip. 
According  to  Lady  Dorothea  no  woman  was  chaste,  none 
constant  to  their  lovers. 

They  got  to  the  theatre  very  late.  There  were  lots  of 
fellows  he  knew  in  the  stalls ;  he  wished  he  had  been  by 
himself. 

When  Sarita  came  on,  he  felt  his  cheeks  flushing,  and 
his  heart  thumping  against  his  side.  Her  smile  was  for 
the  house,  principally  for  the  gallery,  not  at  all  for  him. 
There  had  been  moments,  ever  since  that  night,  when  he 
had  felt  the  possibilities  of  "making  a  fool  of  himself." 
He  knew  what  he  meant  by  the  phrase.  Now  he  knew 
nothing  positively  except  that  that  slim,  smiling  girl,  little 
more  than  a  child,  who  held  the  crowded  house,  was  the 
one  thing  in  the  world  he  wanted.  Wanted,  and  meant 
to  have.  All  at  once  he  felt,  too,  savagely,  his  pain  made 
him  savage,  that  he  was  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of 
himself.  Dorothea  had  shown  him  what  women  were 
like  when  you  got  to  know  them.  He  wasn't  going  to 
make  a  fool  of  himself.  But  he  was  going  to  get  what  he 
wanted. 

K  241 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  She  is  wonderful ! "  said  Dorothea,  "  wonderful !  I'm 
not  surprised  they  shout."  Sally  was  having  an  ovation. 
"I  think  I  shall  go  round  and  speak  to  her.  I  suppose 
I  can  get  round.  She  is  very  grateful  to  me,  you  say, 
for  getting  her  into  Vi's.  She  has  altered,  though,  hasn't 
she?" 

Dorothea  felt  her  responsibility,  it  was  something  of  an 
adventure  to  be  responsible  for  a  dancer  at  the  Verandah. 
Dorothea  loved  to  be  adventurous. 

Kiddie  dissuaded  her  from  going  to  the  stage-door,  and 
promised  to  find  out  Miss  Mainwaring's  address. 

Having  at  last  got  rid  of  Dolly,  he  looked  in  at  the 
Savoy,  then  at  the  Carlton,  finally  at  Romano's,  where  he 
met  Edgar  in  the  hall : 

"  Hullo !  fancy  meeting  you  here !  I  thought  you'd 
disappeared  altogether.  Miss  Mainwaring  is  quite  dis- 
consolate, surrounded  with  suitors,  but  frowning  on  'em 
all." 

Kiddie  did  not  resent  Edgar's  familiarity. 

"  Is  she  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Here  !  Not  she  !  We're  not  virtuous  enough  for  her. 
She  is  eating  bread  and  milk  in  Tillery  Mansions.  Come 
in  and  have  some  supper.  Milly  is  with  me,  but  I'll  easy 
get  a  fourth." 

Kiddie  hesitated. 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  want  supper,  not  just  yet,  anyhow. 
How's  the  play  going  ?  " 

"  Going,  my  dear  fellow,  going !  Why,  it's  just  boom- 
ing, house  full  every  night.  You'll  make  your  fortune 
out  of  that  revival.  Well,  if  you're  not  coming  in,  I  must 
go.  Tom  is  waiting  for  me." 

Edgar  went  in  to  supper  smiling  to  himself,  in  high  good 
humour ;  he  knew  he  had  said  the  right  thing. 

Lord  Kidderminster  hesitated  a  moment  or  two  in  the 

242 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

hall;  went  outside,  and  hesitated  a  moment  on  the  pave- 
ment, only  a  moment,  however. 

"  Damn  it  all,  why  shouldn't  I  do  what  I  like  ?  " 

He  called  a  hansom. 

"  Tillery  Mansions,"  he  called  to  the  driver,  "  Victoria 
Road." 


243 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SALLY  came  to  the  door  of  the  flat  in  answer  to  his 
persistent  knocking.  But  she  opened  it  only  a  little 
way,  keeping  the  chain  up.  He  could  see  she  was  in  a 
dressing  gown,  and  that  her  hair  was  already  unbound. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  Oh,  it's  you !  It's  very  late. 
I'm  just  going  to  bed." 

But  she  was  glad  to  see  him.  He  knew  she  was  glad  to 
see  him,  and  his  heart  leapt. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  tell  you  I  was  back.  I've  been  away. 
How  have  you  been  going  on  ?  " 

"  All  right.     They've  cut  out  my  song." 

"  I  know.     I  was  there  to-night." 

«  ;tf0  | » 

"  Where  else  should  I  be  ?  Sarita,  undo  that  chain,  let 
me  come  in.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Not  me !  "  She  flashed  her  smiles  and  dimples  at  him 
through  the  chained  door. 

"  Well,  tell  me  you've  missed  me,  tell  me  you've  forgiven 
me." 

Sarita's  smiles  and  dimples  faded.  She  did  not  want  to 
be  reminded.  She  had  missed  him,  she  had  wondered  what 
had  become  of  him,  and  was  glad  he  had  returned,  glad  to 
see  him  standing  there.  But  now  that  he  reminded  her  of 
his  last  visit  to  her  rooms,  her  face  fell. 

She  looked  so  wonderful,  so  desirable,  even  in  that 
scanty  glimpse  he  got  of  her.  The  light  from  the  hall  was 
behind  her,  and  he  was  in  the  darkness  of  the  landing. 

244 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Tell  me  you've  forgiven  ine,  and  that  I  may  come  and 
see  you  to-morrow.  Don't  throw  me  over,  Sarita  ! " 

He  was  just  as  near  making  a  fool  of  himself  as  ever. 
But  her  smile  had  maddened  him,  and  now  her  fallen  face 
made  him  yearn  to  her. 

"  Say  you've  forgiven  me." 

Sally  was  silent.     She  wanted  to  forget. 

If  he  had  not  doubted,  she  would  not  have  hesitated. 

"  You  must  say  yes,  you  must." 

She  questioned  herself,  and  her  colour  came  and  went : 

"You'll  go  now." 

"  I'll  go  if  you  say  I  may  come  in  the  morning." 

She  still  hesitated. 

"  I'm  at  the  theatre  in  the  morning,  rehearsing." 

"  You'll  lunch  with  me  if  I  fetch  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"You  hate  me,  then;  you  know  you  hate  me,  although 
you  say  you  don't." 

She  was  cold  and  undecided,  she  wanted  to  get  away 
from  him,  and  what  he  brought  back  to  her  memory.  She 
had  been  keeping  it  all  out  of  her  mind. 

"  Very  well,  then,  in  the  morning,"  she  said  abruptly. 

"Good  night." 

"Goodnight." 

The  door  was  shut  in  his  face.  He  waited  a  few  moments, 
hoping  it  would  reopen,  trying  to  talk  through  it.  But 
Sally  had  banged  it  to,  and  bolted  it.  He  had  no  choice  but 
to  find  his  way  downstairs  again,  and  into  the  courtyard, 
where  his  hansom  waited.  He  was  filled  with  conflicting 
feelings. 


CHAPTER  XV 

followed  a  period  of  drifting.     The  meeting 

I  next  morning  proved  constrained,  but  things  im- 
proved during  lunch.  There  were  so  many  things  to  talk 
about,  so  many  questions  to  be  asked,  they  had  so  much  to 
say  to  each  other.  Sally  did  not  want  to  remember,  and 
Kiddie  did  not  want  to  think. 

In  another  day  or  two  Kiddie's  sudden  passion,  Sally's 
fierce  rejection  of  it,  seemed  as  if  it  had  never  been. 

Neither  Tom  nor  Edgar  understood  how  matters  were  be- 
tween the  pair.  They  hardly  understood  it  themselves. 
What  did  it  matter? 

Gradually  it  came  about  that  Lord  Kidderminster  and 
his  brougham  or  motor  were  all  day  long  at  the  disposal 
of  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring.  He  took  her  to  the  photo- 
graphers, he  fetched  her  from  rehearsals,  he  altered  his 
customary  hours  to  drive  with  her  at  five  in  the  afternoon. 
He  gave  many  theatrical  parties  during  this  period.  Sally 
could  ask  any  of  the  girls  she  liked ;  all  Kiddie's  school 
and  college  pals  came,  and  often  Tom  and  Edgar. 

Sally's  invitations  were  looked  upon  doubtfully  at  first. 
It  took  her  some  time  to  understand  the  social  differences 
and  distinctions  of  this  queer  little  world.  Why  the  first 
row  resented  the  existence  of  the  third,  and  Milly,  with 
one  faithful  attendant,  could  not  be  brought  to  meet  Elsie 
le  Roy,  who  had  apparently  none,  continually  puzzled  her. 
There  were  no  ladies  at  all  at  the  first  party  Lord  Kidder- 
minster gave.  Sally  had  been  so  indiscriminate  in  her  in- 
vitations that  there  was,  as  it  were,  a  strike  among  her 

246 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

guests,  ending  in  a  dreadful  fiasco  of  empty  places.  Edgar 
came  to  her  assistance  after  that,  and  Lord  Kidderminster 
had  often  the  privilege  of  paying  for  the  supper  of  seven  or 
eight  pretty  girls,  and  their  swains.  But  it  was  long  before 
Kitty  Golden  and  Elsie  Glynn,  Miss  Marie  Carruthers,  or 
any  of  the  principals,  joined  the  Kidderminster  parties, 
with  Miss  Mainwaring  as  hostess. 

Kiddie  always  saw  Sarita  home  after  these  suppers. 
But  he  said  "  Good  night "  to  her  as  she  entered  the  lift. 
There  was  a  strange  shyness  between  them,  although  it 
was  only  at  rare  moments  that  it  became  acute.  At  other 
times  she  talked  to  him  freely  of  the  little  incidents  of  her 
daily  life,  of  her  vocal  difficulties,  domestic  arrangements, 
the  kindness  or  unkindness  or  incomprehensibility  of  the 
girls.  Kiddie's  companionship  loosened  her  difficult  tongue, 
and  nothing  in  his  life  had  ever  seemed  to  him  so  interesting 
as  this  simple  prattle.  It  was  limpid,  absolutely  sincere, 
and  candid.  Sally  had  nothing  to  hide. 

Sally's  salary  was  raised,  and  raised  again.  For  in- 
debtedness worried  her,  and  Kiddie  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  offer  her  money  or  clothes.  Always  failing  to 
understand  the  circumstances  or  position,  Tom  and  Edgar 
continued  to  pay  her  supplemental  salary  without  a  word. 

Yet  it  did  not  suffice  for  what  Mr.  Perry  considered  her 
needs : 

"  You  can't  go  out  with  his  lordship  in  that  old  dress ! 
Why!  he's  seen  you  in  it  a  score  of  times,"  he  would 
say  contemptuously.  "  Miss  Baines,  Miss  Mainwaring  must 
have  a  new  motor  coat.  Let  one  of  these  girls  put  on  that 
moleskin.  No,  not  that,  stupid !  Eeally,  sometimes  I 
think  they  do  it  on  purpose  —  the  one  with  the  ermine 
lining,  of  course." 

Sally  was  greedy,  as  a  child  is  greedy ;  she  had  a  keen 
appetite  for  sweets,  and  with  Sally  sweets  meant  dress. 

247 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

But  she  was  honest,  and,  although  Mr.  Perry's  approval 
was  always  valued  by  her,  and  he  never  lost  his  influence, 
he  could  never  persuade  her  to  get  deeply  into  debt.  The 
cost  of  her  food  was  infinitesimal,  so  much  of  it  was  taken 
in  the  company  of  Lord  Kidderminster.  The  rent  of  her 
flat,  according  to  the  arrangement  Edgar  told  her  he  had 
made,  was  deducted  from  her  salary.  Joe  Aarons  got 
his  percentage  quite  regularly.  Sally  liked  paying  it, 
for  she  continued  to  feel  grateful  to  Joe  for  the  start  he 
had  given  her.  But  still  the  Brook  Street  bill  was  al- 
ways worrying  her.  She  knew  she  ought  to  be  saving ;  for 
she  had  not  only  tasted  poverty,  but  fed  upon  it,  for  years, 
nauseating,  unforgettable  meals.  She  talked  about  it  to 
Kiddie,  picturing  a  possible  future  when  the  public  might 
not  like  her  dancing;  her  sweet  lips  trembled  when  she 
said  that  they  had  already  tired  of  her  song. 

Kiddie  had  his  answer  ready.  Often  and  often  it  came 
as  far  as  his  lips,  though  it  could  not  pass  them,  and  always 
it  was  in  his  thoughts. 

When  he  was  not  with  her,  he  felt  glad  that  he  had  been 
seen  driving  about  with  her,  been  met  with  her  in  restau- 
rants, playing  the  game,  apparently,  that  was  expected  of 
a  man  of  his  class  with  a  girl  of  hers.  He  humbugged 
himself  like  this.  But  often,  when  she  was  talking  to  him 
frankly,  as  friend  to  friend,  expecting  sympathy,  without 
a  touch  of  sex  in  it,  he  felt  ashamed.  He  cared  for  no 
one  else's  company ;  all  the  fibres  of  his  nature  were 
stretching  out  to  her  continually.  How  honest  she  was ! 
All  the  women  he  knew  were  so  subtle!  How  pure  she 
was!  All  the  women  of  his  world,  that  limited  Mayfair 
Street  world,  were  so  stained. 

Lady  Fortive,  his  invalid  mother,  banished  now  to  the 
Riviera,  forbidden  the  fatigues  of  the  parliamentary  season, 
noticed,  about  this  time,  a  change  in  his  letters : 

248 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

"Are  you  quite  well?"  she  wrote  to  him.  "Somehow 
I  fancy  you  are  not  yourself.  Am  I  a  fidgety  old  mother, 
or  is  there  something  worrying  you  ?  Write  me  if  I  can 
be  any  use.  You  know  you  have  all  my  heart,  some- 
thing tells  me  all  is  not  well  with  you.  Perhaps  I'm 
painting  devils,  but  I  find  myself  dreaming  of  you.  You 
know,  I  am  sure  you  know,  that  there  is  no  trouble  you 
could  have  I  would  not  wish  to  share.  If  —  don't  be  vexed 
if  my  thoughts  lead  me  the  wrong  way  —  you  have  en- 
countered disappointment,  if  there  is  anything  you  are 
doing,  or  have  done,  with  which  you  are  reproaching  your- 
self, come  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  Two  heads  are  better 
than  one,  but  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  help  you 
if  you  are  in  any  trouble,  and  there  is  nothing  you 
could  do  with  which  I  should  reproach  you.  Gilbert,  I 
feel  by  some  deep  mother-instinct  that  you  are  in  trouble. 
Let  me  help  you,  dear;  you  stand  first  with  me  in  the 
world.  ..." 

He  answered  this  in  a  few  curt  lines : 

"Dear  Mater,  leave  off  worrying  about  me,  I  don't 
want  you  to  make  yourself  ill  again.  You  are  right,  of 
course,  you  always  are.  I  have  got  a  touch  of  the  blues, 
but  I'm  best  alone.  I'll  come  over  in  a  week  or  two,  most 
likely,  and  talk  things  over  with  you.  Meanwhile,  cheer 
up,  I  shall  be  all  right.  Lovingly,  Gilb." 

Kiddie  longed  for  solitude,  yet  could  not  bear  to  be 
alone.  He  made  appointments,  all  sorts  of  appointments, 
and  broke  them  recklessly.  But  he  still  went  often  to 
Curzon  Street.  He  and  Dorothea  had  fallen  into  curious 
confidential  relations.  She  told  him  much,  not  only 
about  herself,  but  about  their  mutual  acquaintances.  The 
bulk  of  it  was  probably  untrue,  but  the  atmosphere  it 
revealed  was  of  a  corner  of  Mayfair,  an  obscure  corner, 
perhaps,  incredibly  corrupt  and  immoral.  It  was  his 

249 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

youth  and  inexperience  that  made  him  accept  it  as  the 
climate  of  the  whole  quarter. 

Lady  Dorothea  carried  out  her  intention  of  calling  upon 
Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring,  and  reminding  her  of  the  obliga- 
tions of  Sally  Snape. 

It  was  after  her  visit  to  the  flat  that  she  made  an  un- 
expected call  upon  Colonel  Fellowes,  who  had  only  returned 
from  Scotland  that  morning,  and  was  rather  overwhelmed 
by  the  honour. 

Colonel  Fellowes  had  a  small,  dingy,  eighteenth-century 
house  in  Half  Moon  Street.  He  liked  the  panelling  and 
the  carved  wood  stair-rails,  and  it  did  not  affect  his 
pleasure  in  the  height  of  the  wainscoting,  and  the  charac- 
teristic cornices,  to  know  that  the  floors  were  uneven 
and  rotten,  the  basement  alive  with  vermin,  and  the 
whole  edifice  dangerously  out  of  alignment.  He  liked 
to  see  his  prints  on  these  panelled  walls,  his  fine  Persian 
rugs  on  these  uneven  floors,  his  Staffordshire  pottery  en- 
niched  in  the  quaint  powder-room,  opening  out  of  the 
drawing-room,  where  his  collections  of  theatre  tokens, 
silhouettes,  needlework  pictures,  made  the  olla  podrida  of 
background  suited  to  the  diversity  of  his  tastes. 

Hospitality  was  a  habit  of  his  Indian  days,  which  his 
life  in  London  had  not  destroyed.  He  was  breakfasting 
when  Dorothea  tornadoed  in,  in  her  inconsiderate  way. 
He  made  her  sit  down  and  join  him  in  his  coffee.  There 
were  occasions  when  Colonel  Fellowes  could  make  even 
Lady  Dorothea  Lytham  rational  and  decent.  He  knew 
she  was  full  of  something  she  wanted  to  tell  him,  but  he 
would  not  have  it  shot  at  him;  she  must  wait  until  he 
was  ready.  So  she  drank  her  coffee,  and  listened  while 
he  told  of  the  sport  he  had  enjoyed,  recognizing,  as  always, 
that  there  was  more  of  the  man  about  him  than  any  one 
else  she  knew.  She  was  almost  sorry,  as  she  sat  there, 

250 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

that  she  was  as  she  was.  For  he  was  really  desirable  and 
difficult.  But  then  she  remembered  she  was  a  Desmond, 
and  grew  self-content. 

"  It's  about  Kiddie,"  she  began.  The  breakfast  was  over 
and  cleared  away,  Colonel  Fellowes  had  his  permission  to 
smoke,  and  Dolly  lit  her  cigarette,  companionably. 

She  looked  very  well  this  morning,  in  her  dark  sable  cap 
with  its  aigrette,  and  her  smart  braided  morning  dress.  She 
had  thrown  off  her  coat ;  she  was  quite  at  home  here. 

"Oh!  about  Kiddie,  is  it?  And  what  has  Kiddie  been 
doing  ?  " 

Colonel  Fellowes  was  nonchalant,  only  mildly  interested 
as  yet;  but  she  had  been  full  of  her  subject  for  the  last 
half-hour.  The  Colonel's  breakfast  was  a  late  meal ;  Dolly's 
visit  to  Sally  had  been  paid  at  eleven. 

"  What  have  you  heard  since  you've  been  away  ?  I  want 
to  begin  at  the  beginning." 

"  Oh ;  I've  heard  all  the  gossip.  Lady  Cleeve  has  turned 
suffragette,  and  has  bitten  a  policeman,  or  been  bitten  by 
a  Labour  Member.  .  .  ." 

She  interrupted  impatiently. 

"  Stale,  old,  stupid.  I  mean  what  have  you  heard  about 
Kiddie  ?  " 

"  That  you  have  been  flirting  with  him,  and  that  Dowling 
is  dismissed.  You  see,  I'm  well  posted  !  " 

She  had  not  even  the  grace  to  blush. 

"  I  see  you  are  not  a  bit  up  to  date.  I  wish  you'd  leave 
off  talking,  and  let  me  have  a  turn.  You  remember  that 
girl  I  visited  in  the  hospital,  and  paid  a  premium  for  to  go 
to  Vi  ?  " 

A  gleam  of  interest  shot  into  his  eyes;  he  remembered 
quite  well. 

"  A  red-haired  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  it.     Well,  she's  got  hold  of  Kiddie." 

251 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Got  hold  of  Kiddie!" 

"  She's  gone  on  the  stage.  Half  London  is  talking  about 
her.  I  went  to  see  her  just  now  in  a  beastly  little  flat  in 
Victoria.  Well !  Kiddie  was  there !  At  eleven  in  the 
morning.  He  ran  in,  after  I'd  been  there  five  minutes,  as 
if  the  place  belonged  to  him." 

"It  probably  does,"  interposed  the  Colonel  sotto  voce, 
and  rather  amused. 

"  Don't  be  silly.  I  should  have  recognized  that  sort  of 
thing  at  once.  Besides  .  .  ."  But  she  did  not  finish  her 
sentence,  she  went  off  at  a  tangent.  "  Oh,  no  !  it  was  all 
natural  and  above-board ;  Kiddie  had  no  frills  on.  He  was 
surprised  at  seeing  rne  there,  and  said  he  thought  it  very 
kind  of  me,  but  not  as  if  he  were  surprised  at  all.  He  and 
the  girl  were  full  of  appointments  and  arrangements  ;  they 
seem  to  have  been  practically  spending  their  days  together. 
And  Kiddie  has  never  said  a  word  to  me  about  her.  Oh, 
yes !  a  week  ago  he  said  something,  not  since,  though 
I've  seen  him  almost  daily.  I'm  sure  there  is  something 
in  it." 

Colonel  Fellowes'  innate  courtesy  prevented  him  saying  all 
that  was  in  his  mind,  but  he  smiled  and  settled  himself 
more  comfortably  in  his  easy  chair,  and  suggested,  as 
delicately  as  he  could,  that  Kiddie  was  quite  at  liberty  to 
visit  Verandah  Theatre  girls,  but  it  was  not  an  occupa- 
tion which  Lady  Dorothea  need  share  with  him. 

"But  there's  nothing  of  that  sort  in  it,"  she  persisted. 
"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  It's  philanthropy,  it's 
friendship,  it's  anything  you  like,  but  it  isn't  what  you 
think." 

"  Well !  what  is  your  view  of  it  ?  What  are  you  making 
a  fuss  about  ?  Kiddie  is  of  age.  And  he  can  take  care  of 
himself." 

"  No  man  can  take  care  of  himself  when  a  girl  has  got 

252 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

red  hair,  and  innocent  eyes,  and  all  his  friends  are  talking 
about  her." 

Lady  Dorothea  did  not  succeed  in  impressing  Colonel 
Fellowes  that  Lord  Kidderminster  was  in  any  particular 
danger.  He  attributed  her  excitement  about  it  to  the  most 
natural  cause.  Kidderminster's  distant  cousinship  was  a 
very  valuable  asset  in  Lady  Dorothea's  drifting  social 
whirlpool;  and  lately  she  had  been  utilizing  it  to  its  ex- 
treme extent. 

"  Where  is  Kiddie  to  be  found  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  has  not  lunched  in  Curzon  Street  for  three  days. 
I  asked  him  just  now  if  I  should  see  him  later,  and  he 
turned  round  to  her  in  the  most  natural  manner,  and  said : 
'  What  are  you  doing,  Sarita  ? '  You  know  her  name  isn't 
Sarita  at  all ;  it's  Sally." 

"  Well,  and  then  what  happened  ?  " 

Dorothea  looked  at  him  with  impudent,  smiling  candour. 

"  I  said :  '  You  come  too,  Miss  Mainwaring.  Bring  her, 
Kiddie.'  Then  I  came  to  fetch  you.  I've  a  crowd  coming, 
and  I  want  you  to  help." 

"  What  will  you  be  doing  next,  I  wonder !  " 

She  expected  a  scolding,  but  did  not  get  it.  Colonel  Fel- 
lowes' feeling  for  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham  had  passed  be- 
yond the  illusion  stage.  Next  time,  and  at  all  times,  she 
would  do  or  say  that  which  suited  her  temperamental  inde- 
corousness,  without  the  slightest  consideration  for  his  or 
any  one  else's  feelings. 

He  accompanied  her  on  a  shopping  expedition,  spent 
half  an  hour  with  her  at  Agnew's  Winter  Exhibition,  and 
went  back  with  her  to  Curzon  Street,  falling  naturally  into 
his  habits. 

But  he,  no  less  than  Dolly,  noticed  something  exceptional 
in  the  relations  of  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring  and  Lord  Kid- 
derminster. In  the  first  place,  Colonel  Fellowes,  although 

253 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

he  thought  Dorothea's  invitation  had  been  injudicious,  if 
nothing  worse,  had  a  positive  notion  that  it  would  not  be 
accepted.  He  felt  confident  that,  when  the  time  came,  a 
telegram  or  messenger  boy,  a  telephone,  or  dashing  hansom, 
would  deliver  some  conventional  excuse.  He  had  a  very 
good  opinion  of  Kiddie,  au  fond.  He  knew  Kiddie  was  not 
clever,  nor  even  athletic,  but  certainly  he  had  a  sense  of 
the  fitness  of  things !  If  this  Sarita  Mainwaring  was  what 
Colonel  Fellowes  shrewdly  conjectured,  then  Kiddie  would 
not  bring  her  to  lunch  with  his  cousin. 

But  here  she  was,  and  Kiddie  with  her,  waiting  their 
return,  not  impatiently,  in  that  over-crowded  Curzon  Street 
drawing-room. 

Dolly  greeted  them  warmly.  Colonel  Fellowes  supple- 
mented his  introduction  to  Sarita  with: 

"  We've  met  before,  I  think,"  and  was  surprised,  perhaps 
gratified,  to  hear  how  well  Miss  Mainwaring  remembered 
the  occasion. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back,  Fellowes ;  London  has  been 
empty  without  you,"  Kiddie  said  warmly,  when  he  and 
Sarita  had  exchanged  remembrances. 

"  That's  a  pretty  compliment  to  me." 

Dolly  had  no  time  to  fling  more  than  this  challenge  to 
Kiddie,  because  other  guests  came  in;  Lady  Cleeve,  with 
the  newest  millionaire,  the  Duchess  of  Ebrington,  accom- 
panied by  a  philanthropic  church-and-stage  clergyman; 
Harry  Crossley,  and  Lulu  Brodrick.  Lady  Dorothea  was 
not  yet  outside  the  pale,  although  already  she  received 
more  guests  than  invitations.  The  Duchess  of  Ebrington 
would  cling  to  her  family  as  long  as  it  was  in  any  way 
possible ;  and,  whatever  her  secret  habits,  her  own  position 
is  still  unassailable. 

Soon  every  one  was  talking  at  once,  racing  and  sport, 
dress,  bridge,  and  gossip. 

254 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Sally  sat  amongst  them,  with  them,  but  not  of  them; 
her  eyes  were  bright  with  bewilderment.  She  wished 
herself  at  Eomano's,  at  the  theatre,  at  the  flat,  anywhere 
but  here. 

But  Kiddie  had  so  urged  her  to  come.  Lady  Dorothea 
might  be  a  useful  friend  to  her,  he  had  said.  Heaven  knows 
what  he  had  in  his  mind.  He  saw,  dimly,  a  path  before  him, 
a  clean  white  path.  But  his  feet  were  not  yet  set  upon  it. 
He  tried  to  drag  Sally  into  the  conversation,  to  make  her 
shine  before  Dolly  and  her  guests,  but  he  elicited  only 
monosyllables.  The  Four-in-Hand  Club  was  spoken  of : 

"  Miss  Mainwaring  is  learning  to  drive ;  she'll  handle 
the  ribbons  famously  one  of  these  days,  won't  you,  Miss 
Sarita?"  he  said. 

Captain  Crossley  looked  at  her  with  some  interest ;  none 
of  them  had  yet  identified  her, 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  Perhaps  I  shall,  but  it 
won't  be  for  a  long  time." 

"  Do  you  like  driving  ?  "  asked  Colonel  Fellowes,  as  he 
took  his  seat  beside  her  at  the  luncheon  table. 

"  Well  enough,"  said  the  factory  girl,  feeling  that 
James's  eye  was  on  her,  for  the  last  time  she  had  had  a 
meal  here  it  was  in  the  kitchen.  She  wished  herself  again 
in  that  friendly  kitchen.  She  felt  herself  out  of  place,  and 
was  resentful  of  her  own  disabilities  and  the  others'  ease. 
She  could  not  explain  her  discomfort ;  she  did  everything 
wrong  with  the  knives,  and  the  forks,  the  glasses,  her 
crumbled  bread.  She  thought  they  were  all  looking  at 
her,  and  laughing  at  her.  But  only  the  butler  was  at  all 
interested  in  her  table  vagaries.  Lady  Dorothea  was 
admiring  her  grey  voile  with  the  chenille  embroidery,  the 
grey-shaded  feather  in  her  hat.  She  knew  it  was  a  "Perry" ; 
knew  it  by  the  tiny  bow  at  the  neck,  by  the  bit  of  wall- 
flower colouring  in  it;  her  quick  eye  had  seen  the  wall- 

255 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

flower  petticoat  as  Sally  passed  before  her  into  the  room. 
It  distracted  her  from  her  consideration  of  etiquette  : 

"  Mr.  Perry  made  you  that  dress,  didn't  he  ? "  she 
asked  across  the  table. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  could  tell  him  anywhere.  He  has  such  an  extraordi- 
nary instinct  for  colour.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  m'lady." 

That  did  draw  attention  to  her,  and  wondering  eyes 
questioned  Dorothea  with  amusement.  Dorothea  was 
equal  to  the  occasion ;  there  was  nothing  in  what  she  said 
to  make  Lord  Kidderminster  furious,  although  that  was 
the  immediate  result  of  her  explanation : 

"  You've  none  of  you  met  Miss  Mainwaring  before,  have 
you  ?  But  she  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I  practised  with 
the  Panhard,  when  it  first  came  home,  over  her  prostrate 
body.  She  was  on  the  way  from  a  picnic  at  Epping  with 
the  other  girls  from  Messrs.  Hall  &  Palmer's.  When 
she  was  patched  up  again  I  made  Vi  take  her.  Now  she  is 
the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  —  aren't  you,  Miss  Mainwaring  ?  — 
at  the  Verandah  Theatre." 

"  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring ! "  exclaimed  together  the 
clergyman  and  Captain  Crossley.  Both  of  them  had 
studied  her  from  the  front,  both  of  them  stared  at  her 
now,  quite  regardless  of  her  feelings.  Her  feelings  were 
only  those  of  poignant  discomfort ;  she  went  on  crumbling 
her  bread.  The  wild  rose  flushed  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
were  suffused,  she  wished  they  would  talk  of  some  one  else. 

"  Kiddie  paid  the  premium  for  her  at  Vi's,"  Lady  Doro- 
thea continued  mischievously.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
affected  by  Sally's  embarrassment,  and  she  was  enjoying 
the  expression  of  fury  on  Kiddie's  face.  "I  hope  Miss 
Mainwaring  will  find  some  way  of  making  it  up  to  him.  .  .  ." 

Sally  looked  up  eagerly,  she  wanted  to  say  she  was 

256 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

grateful,  she  would  try  and  make  it  up  to  Lord  Kidder- 
minster. But  Lady  Dorothea's  laugh,  the  laugh  that 
echoed  rather  lightly  round  the  table,  struck  her  dumb 
again. 

Under  cover  of  it  Colonel  Fellowes  began  to  talk  to  her. 
He  had  a  charming  voice,  an  unfailing  tact,  and  he  con- 
sidered Dolly  was  behaving  exceptionally  badly.  Before 
luncheon  was  over,  that  incongruous,  strange  luncheon, 
he  had  realized  something  of  Sally's  charm.  For,  with 
him,  too,  once  he  had  set  her  talking,  and  at  her  ease,  she 
was  completely  frank.  She  was  so  glad  he  liked  her  frock, 
Mr.  Perry  thought  the  wall-flower  red  just  took  up  the 
shade  of  her  hair. 

"  Don't  you  love  jewellery  too  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

She  wore  none,  not  even  a  ring  on  the  small  hands. 
Sally's  first  and  last  purchase  of  jewellery  had  been  the 
imitation  tortoise-shell  combs  with  the  turquoise.  She 
told  Colonel  Fellowes  about  them : 

"I  gave  them  to  the  cook  at  Miss  Rugeley's.  I've 
never  had  ornaments  since.  It's  so  easy  to  go  wrong  with 
ornaments,"  she  said  simply.  "  Mr.  Perry  has  often  said 
that." 

"  Of  course.  But  with  that  dress  you've  on,  for  instance, 
a  chain,  very  slender,  of  cabochon  rubies,  would  be  the  very 
thing.  I  know  where  there  is  one,"  lie  went  on ;  "  at 
Phillips'  in  Bond  Street.  You  ought  to  go  and  see  it." 

Dorothea  heard  him ;  her  peaked  small  ears  missed  little, 
and  her  chair  was  only  two  from  his. 

"  Mephistopheles ! "  she  threw  at  him,  smiling,  quite  low. 
No  one  heard  it  but  himself,  it  was  grimaced  rather  than 
spoken. 

Colonel  Fellowes  was  very  well  amused,  he  liked  the  hesi- 
tant low  quality  of  Sally's  voice ;  there  was  no  exertion  in 
fishing  such  limpid  waters. 

s  257 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Shall  I  tell  Phillips  to  send  it  up  for  you  to  see  ?  You 
might  get  Kiddie  to  give  it  you,"  he  said,  observing  the 
effect  of  his  suggestion. 

The  most  beautiful  colour  overspread  her  cheeks. 

"  Could  I  ?  "  she  said.  "  Could  I  ?  "  quite  excited  with 
the  suggestion,  and  the  description.  But  then  her  face 
fell,  and  she  shook  her  head.  "  You  don't  know  how 
much  he  has  given  me.  I  couldn't  ever  ask  him  for  any- 
thing more." 

"Well!  Shall  I  give  it  you?  May  I  at  least  bring 
it  for  your  inspection  some  afternoon  ?  Let  me  see,  Tillery 
Mansions,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Why  should  not  he  have  a  hand  in  the  game,  he  as  well 
as  Dolly  ?  She  was  a  pretty  little  girl,  she  only  wanted 
teaching.  Kiddie  had  not  got  her  on  very  well. 

The  men  began  discussing  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring  as 
soon  as  the  ladies  had  left  the  room.  Whilst  the  talk  re- 
ferred to  her  dancing,  Kiddie  was  silent,  for  they  all  agreed 
it  was  superb,  unexampled. 

"  What's  her  history  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dakin,  the  Australian 
millionaire  who  had  come  with  Lady  Cleeve. 

"  One  of  honest  work,"  interposed  Kiddie,  hotly. 

Colonel  Fellowes'  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  rolled  his  ciga- 
rette delicately. 

"  I  hear  you've  given  her  a  brougham  and  a  motor  to 
take  her  backwards  and  forwards  to  it,"  said  Harry  Cross- 
ley  lightly,  and  would  have  continued  in  the  same  tone, 
had  he  not  been  startled  by  Kiddie's  hot  contradiction : 

"Then  you've  heard  a  damned  lie.  She's  a  decent, 
straight,  hard-working  little  girl." 

"  Oh,  well,  the  Verandah  Theatre  and  Tom  Peters  will 
soon  cure  her  of  that  for  you,"  Lulu  Brodrick  interposed 
comfortably. 

"  I  don't  want  her  to  be  cured !  "  Kiddie  muttered. 

258 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

He  was  sullen,  fierce,  unaccountable ;  they  were  sur- 
prised into  silence.  But,  after  another  conversational  hare 
had  been  quickly  started  by  Colonel  Fellowes  and  pursued, 
when  they  had  got  through  their  wine,  and  smoked  enough 
of  their  cigars  to  rejoin  the  ladies,  an  uncomfortable  im- 
pression remained  in  their  minds,  a  nucleus  that  crystal- 
lized into  the  rumour  concerning  Gillie  Kidderminster  and 
a  possible  mesalliance,  which  from  that  day  forward  became 
the  gossip  of  London  Clubland. 

Kiddie  and  Colonel  Fellowes  remained  after  the  others 
had  left  the  room.  Kiddie  continued  silent;  there  was  a 
sense  of  restraint  about  him,  a  holding  in  of  his  forces. 

The  older  man  said,  after  waiting  for  the  confidence  that 
failed  to  come : 

"  Well,  what  is  it  going  to  lead  to  ?  " 

"  What  ?    What  ?     I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Platonic  friendships  with  theatre  girls." 

Kiddie  was  not  ready-tongued. 

"Do  you  think  you  were  quite  wise  in  bringing  the  girl 
here  to-day  ?  "  the  Colonel  went  on,  still  feeling  his  way. 
"  She  did  not  strike  me  as  feeling  comfortable,  or  at  home." 

"  There's  no  reason  she  shouldn't  come  here  or  any- 
where," Kiddie  answered,  violently. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,"  was  the  gentle  answer.  Freddy 
Fellowes  puffed  at  his  cigarette  with  cynical  eyes  and  up- 
lifted brows.  "  Very  sorry.  She's  a  pretty  girl  —  and 
dances  for  a  living  !  " 

"  She's  as  good  as  gold." 

"I  know.  I  heard  you  say  so;  you  need  not  go  on 
saying  it.  I  think  it's  a  pity,  that's  all;  she's  got  her 
bad  time  to  go  through,  instead  of  having  left  it  behind 
her." 

"  You  are  a  damned  cynic,  you  are." 

"What!  Because  I'm  sorry  for  a  good  little  girl  who 

259 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

has  gone  to  school  at  the  Verandah  Theatre  ?  I  wonde* 
if  all  one  hears  of  Tom  Peters  is  true,  if  he  really  does 
make  it  a  sine  qua  non.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh !  Don't  give  me  that  newspaper  twaddle  about 
Tom  Peters;  he's  a  good  business  man,  that's  all  they've 
got  against  him." 

"  And  about  Miss  Mainwaring  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  Miss  Mainwaring." 

"But  other  people  will  talk,  if  it  is  true  that  she  has 
the  use  of  your  carriages  and  the  monopoly  of  your 
time  I " 

Colonel  Fellowes  used  his  position  and  his  privileges 
temperately,  he  was  so  much  the  older  man.  During  the 
conversation  that  ensued  he  exhibited  his  worldly  in- 
telligence, and  Kiddie  only  a  boyish  intemperance.  He 
had  wanted  a  counsellor,  a  confidant  all  this  time,  and 
Freddy  Fellowes  was  always  the  one  he  had  in  his  mind. 
He  was  such  a  good  fellow,  and  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
his  advice  would  surely  be  worth  following.  Kiddie,  in 
his  restlessness  of  mind  and  irresolution,  had  looked  on 
Colonel  Fellowes,  when  he  should  return  from  Scotland, 
as  his  only  possible  anchor.  But  now  he  found  him 
disappointing,  unsympathetic,  irritating. 

Colonel  Fellowes  read  the  boy's  mind  as  an  open  book, 
and  feared  what  was  at  the  back  of  it.  Dorothea  had  done 
no  good  in  inviting  Sally  there,  it  made  the  impossible 
seem  possible.  To  do  Colonel  Fellowes  justice,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  he  knew  nothing  of  Sally  except  what 
was  on  the  surface.  He  determined  that  Kiddie  must  not 
be  allowed  to  make  an  ass  of  himself,  and  wreck  his  life  at 
the  opening. 

"  You  don't  mind  if  I  go  and  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I've  got  no  authority  to  allow  or  prevent 
her  seeing  any  one  she  has  a  mind  to,  or  doing  anything 

260 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

she  chooses.  She  is  nothing  to  me."  The  boy's  face 
belied  his  words.  "But  I'm  sorry  for  her,  with  all  this 
damned  talk  about  Verandah  Theatre  girls.  They  are 
every  bit  as  straight  as  .  .  ." 

But  his  eyes  met  the  Colonel's,  and  he  did  not  finish 
his  sentence.  "I'm  a  friend  of  hers,  just  a  friend,  nothing 
more." 


361 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  has  been  said  that  Colonel  Fellowes  was  a  man  of 
the  world.  He  had  started  his  career,  some  twenty 
years  ago,  by  being  co-respondent  in  one  of  the  most 
famous  of  the  infamous  divorce  cases  of  the  day.  He  was 
then  a  boy  of  four-and-twenty.  At  a  country  ball  he  had 
met  a  charming  young  married  woman,  a  fellow  guest 
at  Lady  Fortive's.  An  ordinary  dance  and  flirtation  was 
followed  by  an  invitation  to  call  upon  her  in  London. 
Pursuing  the  flirtation,  it  had  meant  nothing  more 
to  him,  Colonel,  then  Lieutenant,  Fellowes  was  made 
acquainted  with  his  inamorata's  mother  and  married 
sister.  All  of  them  passed  for  being  in  society.  That 
the  society  they  were  in  was  but  that  murky  corner 
of  Mayfair  which  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham  had  shown 
Kiddie,  could  not  possibly  be  known  to  the  young 
soldier.  The  mother  was  the  acknowledged  widow  of  a 
peer,  the  unacknowledged  mistress  of  one  of  our  foremost 
politicians,  a  brilliant  cynical  fascinating  man  of  about 
five-and -forty.  Lieutenant  Frederick  Fellowes  availed  him- 
self of  privileges  freely  offered  him.  The  eminent  politician 
betrayed  a  short-lived  interest  in  the  other  sister.  A  tale 
of  promiscuity,  afterwards  freely  ventilated  in  the  law 
courts,  was  quickly  developed.  The  husband  of  Mrs. 
Carruthers  became  the  deus  ex  maehina  used  by  Lady 
Somers  as  the  first  weapon  she  could  find  to  avenge  hei 
hideous  jealousy  against  her  own  daughter. 

Sir  George  Brydges  saw  his  career  ruined,  the  discre- 

262 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

pancies  of  his  private  life  made  public,  his  friends  out- 
raged. 

These  abominable  people,  the  mother  and  the  two  daugh- 
ters, had  used  one  house  in  particular  as  a  rendezvous  for 
their  lovers.  Lieutenant  Fellowes  had  been  there  with 
one  sister.  When  a  public  scandal  was  inevitable  he  was 
crudely  asked  what  sum  he  would  take  to  say  he  had  been 
there  with  the  other.  Every  possible  effort  was  made  to 
save  Sir  George  Brydges  for  his  party,  for  the  country.  If 
Lady  Somers  could  be  made  to  believe  it  was  Mr.  Fellowes 
who  had  been  her  daughter's  lover,  if  Mr.  Fellowes  could 
be  induced  to  disappear  without  contradicting  it,  Mr.  Car- 
ruthers  would  get  his  divorce  with  one  co-respondent,  and 
Lady  Somers'  mouth  might  be  shut. 

But  Lieutenant  Frederick  Fellowes  said  that  for  a  million 
of  money  he  would  perjure  himself  neither  in  esse  nor  in 
facto.  He  brought  an  oblique  sense  of  honour,  and  a  youth- 
ful obstinacy,  to  meet  a  situation  that  then  and  always  was 
beyond  his  complete  comprehension. 

The  unsavoury  case  was  threshed  out  at  full  length. 
The  public,  violently  inconsistent  under  the  intermittent 
lash  of  its  spasmodic  conscience,  was  strong  enough  to 
hound  out  of  public  life  the  one  man  who  knew  the  strength 
and  weakness  of  our  colonial  policy.  The  early  disasters 
of  the  South  African  campaign  may,  perhaps,  be  said  to 
have  been  primarily  due  to  the  Brydges  case.  Incidentally, 
too,  society  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  Mr.  Frederick 
Fellowes.  The  society  that  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Lieutenant  Fellowes  was  not,  however,  that  murky  corner 
which  he  had  hitherto  thought  comprised  the  whole.  He 
had  had  enough  of  that.  And  his  opinion  of  women  was 
soiled  almost  past  redemption.  The  lies  that  were  told  in 
the  witness-box,  the  whole  sordid  ugly  business,  warped  his 
mind.  It  took  him  fifteen  years  of  active  service,  in  India, 

263 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

in  Egypt,  and,  finally,  in  South  Africa,  before  lie  got  clean 
again. 

And  it  was  just  fifteen  years  later  when  Lady  Dorothea 
Lytham  went  out  to  South  Africa,  to  the  picnic  that  all  the 
South  African  War  was  expected  to  be  in  the  early  days,  to 
join  her  husband. 

Captain  Fellowes  had  seen  her,  a  child,  with  her  sisters 
and  brothers  at  the  Fortives'.  As  a  child  of  ten  she  had 
been  beautiful,  lively,  engaging,  frank,  and  wild.  Once, 
too,  since  his  disaster,  he  had  met  her  in  India,  travelling 
with  her  brother. 

She  was  then  seventeen,  no  less  beautiful,  even  franker, 
and  more  daring.  Whatever  had  passed  between  them, 
it  was  not  he  who  had  been  the  attacking  party  in  that 
campaign.  But,  of  course,  he  was  no  match  for  a  Desmond, 
he  had  but  his  pay,  a  few  hundreds  a  year,  a  good  name 
with  a  bad  stain  upon  it.  They  parted,  and  in  truth  she 
had  not  raised  his  opinion  of  the  sex.  He  heard  of  her 
marriage  a  year  or  two  later ;  a  little  gossip  reached  him 
too. 

Their  next  meeting  was  in  Cape  Town.  She  met  him 
as  if  not  a  day  had  elapsed  since  their  parting.  He  was 
grizzled,  older,  a  thousand  times  less  easy  or  amenable, 
much  more  desirable,  therefore.  It  was  in  the  early  days 
of  the  war,  and  no  one  foresaw  the  future.  It  was  dull  at 
Cape  Town.  Captain  the  Honourable  Alec  Lytham  knew 
that  his  wife  was  at  Cape  Town ;  but  he  was  at  Bulawayo, 
and  made  no  effort  to  join  her.  Colonel  Fellowes  had  per- 
force to  console  her  for  the  neglect. 

When,  many  months  afterwards,  the  two  soldiers  met 
at  the  siege  of  Ladysmith,  in  a  situation  when  men  speak 
truth  to  each  other  or  stay  silent,  Fellowes  spoke  to  Cap- 
tain Lytham  of  his  wife,  of  having  met  her  in  Cape 
Town. 

264 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"We  may  get  out  of  this,  though  I  doubt  it.  But  if 
we  do,  or  if  we  don't,  it's  all  one  to  me  as  far  as  Lady 
Dorothea  is  concerned,"  the  other  replied,  briefly.  "  She 
knew  that  before  I  left  England;  it  was  not  me  she 
followed.  It  probably  was  not  only  one  man,  either.  There 
are  women  like  that,  Fellowes.  You  can't  do  anything  for 
them ;  it  is  a  question  of  temperament,  I  suppose,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  judge  harshly.  I  am  not  going  to 
divorce  her,  she  knows  that,  too.  Probably  this  campaign 
will  be  the  end,  I  am  sure  I  hope  so.  Otherwise,  if  I  get 
back  and  she  wants  a  divorce,  I'll  contrive  that  no  blame 
falls  on  her.  But  don't  speak  to  me  about  my  wife.  I 
went  through  hell  in  the  first  year  of  my  married  life.  I 
loved  her,"  he  added  simply,  as  if  that  explained  every- 
thing. 

Colonel  Fellowes  had  never  had  quite  that  with  which 
to  hurt  his  memory  of  Lady  Dorothea.  Love  and  mar- 
riage, as  ordinary  men  understand  them,  were  outside  the 
prospects  life  held  for  him,  after  he  had  been  dragged 
through  the  mire  of  the  Brydges  case. 

When  the  South  African  War  was  over,  and  he  went  back 
to  London,  somewhat  of  a  hero,  with  glamour  enough  about 
him  to  obliterate  the  follies  of  a  boy  of  twenty-four, 
Lady  Dorothea  dragged  him  quickly  back  to  the  place 
from  which  he  had  started.  It  did  not  seem  so  murky 
to  him  now ;  in  any  case,  he  saw  no  escape  into  a  clearer 
ether.  He  was  tired,  too,  he  had  done  his  life's  work,  and 
all  his  fighting ;  he  had  lived  down  his  ideals.  He  settled 
down  to  club  life,  lightened  by  a  little  dilettante  collecting. 
He  had  companions  in  arms  who  gave  him  shooting  and 
fishing  in  their  different  seasons.  He  was  liked  at  the 
Bag;  he  had  friends  everywhere.  The  Brydges  incident 
was  forgotten,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  part  he  had  played  in  it 
was  ignored.  His  intimacy  with  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham, 

265 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

neither  made  ridiculous  by  jealousy,  nor  prominent  with 
scenes,  became  an  accepted  convention. 

The  Brydges  case  had  been  the  talk  of  London,  when 
Gilbert,  Lord  Kidderminster,  was  twelve  months  old.  His 
father,  the  Marquis  of  Fortive,  had  only  just  come  into  the 
title  he  was  to  bear  so  becomingly.  The  house-party  which 
had  harboured  the  evil  genius  of  Fellowes'  life  had  been  at 
Lady  Fortive's.  She  was  the  same  sweet,  gracious  lady  that 
she  is  now,  but  younger,  in  better  health,  and  devoted  to  her 
nursery.  It  was  probably  her  love  for  her  own  baby  boy 
that  made  her  think  more  tenderly  than  other  people  of  the 
grown-up  one,  who  stood  his  ordeal  in  the  witness-box,  and 
his  condemnation  in  the  Press,  and  left  England  in  the 
storm-cloud  he  had  provoked. 

It  was  in  Egypt  they  next  met,  in  the  days  before 
Lord  Cromer's  administration,  and  one  of  the  highest 
official  positions  that  England  could  bestow  was  vested  in 
Lord  Fortive. 

There  was  no  reason  the  Fortives  should  go  out  of  their 
way  to  show  kindness,  or  any  social  attention,  to  an 
obscure  captain  in  the  Lancers,  more  particularly  when 
that  officer  had  a  shady  reputation.  Nevertheless  the 
kindness  was  shown.  Captain  Fellowes  was  invited  to 
tea,  chosen  as  an  escort  for  an  expedition  into  the  desert, 
made  free  of  the  Fortive  quarters.  He  was  very  depressed 
in  those  days,  full  of  ugly  thought  and  harsh  temper. 
He  felt  sometimes  that  it  mattered  very  little  what  became  of 
him,  or  of  the  lady  he  had  shielded,  that  he  would  have  done 
better  to  have  accepted  the  proposal  of  Sir  George  Brydges' 
lawyers. 

These  ugly  thoughts  were  gradually  dispelled  by  Lady 
Fortive's  gentleness  and  unspoken  sympathy.  He  met 
in  her  a  true  gentlewoman,  formed  to  be  man's  helpmate, 
gentle,  yet  strong.  He  envied  her  baby  boy ;  he  himself 

266 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

had  been  orphaned  so  young.  The  impression  she  made 
was  a  lasting  one.  She  had  permitted,  even  encouraged, 
a  correspondence.  He  had  sought  her  out  immediately 
he  returned  to  England.  That  was  when  Lord  Kidder- 
minster had  just  left  Eton.  The  Marquis  of  Portive  had, 
perhaps,  proved  a  better  statesman  than  husband.  In  any 
case,  the  love  that  Colonel  Fellowes  saw  now  in  Lady 
Fortive's  eyes  was  only  mother-love,  tender,  anxious, 
absorbing.  And  it  was  of  Gilbert  they  chiefly  talked. 

Gilbert  was  going  up  to  Oxford.  From  Oxford  he  would, 
of  course,  come  to  London.  In  London  he  would  need,  not 
merely  friends,  but  an  adviser. 

"  There  will  be  many  temptations  for  him,"  the  mother 
sighed : 

"  He  has  strength  and  character,  he  will  surmount  them," 
Colonel  Fellowes  replied,  to  reassure  her. 

"I  know,  I  am  quite  sure.  He  has  always  been  steady, 
the  best  of  sons.  .  .  ." 

"But  if  there  should  come  a  time  when  I  can  be  of  use  to 
him;  by  my  memory  of  your  sweetness  to  me,  years  ago, 
Lady  Fortive,  when  I  needed  kindness  so  badly,  worse  than 
you  know  even  —  by  the  memory  of  that,  I  promise  you, 
Gilbert  shall  be  to  me  as  if  he  were  my  younger  brother. 
I  will  never  lose  sight  of  him,  never  be  out  of  touch  with 
him  if  I  can  help  it,  if  he  will  allow  it." 

This  was  a  few  years  ago.  The  Marchioness  of  Fortive 
had  had  her  seasons  in  town,  and  Colonel  Fellowes  had  at- 
tended her  receptions.  And  Kiddie,  her  idolized  Gilbert, 
had  lived  his  town  life,  on  the  whole,  temperately.  The 
Colonel's  brotherly  eye  had  been  little  needed.  He  had 
won,  and  retained,  the  young  man's  confidence,  friendship, 
and  strong  liking.  He  had,  when  the  occasion  served,  re- 
minded Lady  Fortive  that  he  was  watching  over  Kiddie, 
that  she  had  in  him  a  trusty  lieutenant,  always  at  her  service. 

267 


THE   HEART   OF  A  CHILD 

But  until  the  day  of  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham's  lunch- 
party  in  Curzon  Street  his  services  had  never  been  neces- 
sary, nothing  had  been  required  of  him.  Now  it  was  no 
longer  so.  He  knew  it,  felt  it  instinctively,  when  he  left 
Curzon  Street  that  day,  with  the  inevitable  cigarette  in  his 
hand,  and  the  almost  equally  inevitable  question  in  his 
mind.  What  was  he  to  do  to  keep  Lady  Fortive's  boy 
from  committing  the  folly  he  meditated  ?  For,  that  Kiddie 
was  meditating  folly,  Colonel  Frederick  Fellowes  had  no 
reasonable  doubt. 

There  was  little  of  the  moralist  about  the  Colonel.  He 
had  been  through  grave,  stern  moments,  faced  danger 
coolly,  death  unafraid.  Death  and  suffering  were  familiar 
to  him.  He  had  led  troops,  and  led  them  well,  through 
the  fire  of  hidden  rifles,  and  long  range  of  guns.  He  had 
helped  to  keep  his  country's  flag  flying  when  the  flag  was 
shaking  in  the  wind  of  disaster.  All  this  was  serious. 
But  woman's  honour!  that  was  mere  piffle,  a  thing  they 
sold  or  gave  away,  guarded  for  gain,  or  bartered  for  dross, 
lured  with,  lied  about.  Kiddie  must  not  give  away  his 
strength  for  this,  Kiddie  must  be  saved. 

Colonel  Fellowes,  having  read  Faust  and  known  Lady 
Dorothea  Lytham,  was  quite  prepared  to  pursue  the  Me- 
phistophelean policy.  Kiddie,  in  the  course  of  that  rather 
heated  after-luncheon  argument,  had  dilated  upon  Miss 
Mainwaring's  pride,  her  honest  pride.  She  had  said  Kiddie 
had  given  her  so  much.  Kiddie  had  laughed  rather  bitterly 
when  this  was  repeated  to  him.  He  told  the  Colonel  that 
he  had  taken  her  out  to  dinner,  supper,  lunch.  She  made 
a  fuss  even  about  that.  At  first  she  had  almost  insisted 
upon  paying  her  half-share.  Kiddie  had  not  given  her 
any  jewellery;  he  was  not  going  to  insult  her,  he  said, 
hotly. 

But  Colonel  Fellowes  did  not  think  it  insulting  to  give 

268 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

a  pretty  girl  a  pretty  chain.  So,  when  he  left  Curzon 
Street,  he  went  to  Phillips'.  That  famous  jewellery  empo- 
rium was  never  over-crowded,  there  was  always  an  assist- 
ant ready  to  attend  to  a  customer's  wants.  And  Colonel 
Fellowes  was  known  as  a  customer;  he  was  fond  of 
bibelots,  generous  to  a  fault,  and  enjoyed  buying  pretty 
things. 

The  chain  he  had  seen  in  the  window  was  no  great  cost 
—  forty -five  pounds  —  but  Colonel  Fellowes  made  rather  a 
wry  face  over  the  amount.  It  would  make  a  hole  in  his 
spending  money.  But  he  understood  what  good  value 
he  was  being  offered,  and,  after  a  little  argument,  the 
purchase  was  completed,  and  he  left  the  shop  with  the 
bauble  in  his  pocket. 

The  name-board  at  Tillery  Mansions  informed  him  that 
Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring  was  at  home. 

When  the  lift  deposited  him  at  her  flat,  she  opened  the  door 
to  him  herself,  and  told  him  that  she  had  come  home  after 
the  lunch-party  to  rest.  Kiddie  said  she  ought  to  rest  in 
the  middle  of  the  day,  but  she  hated  "resting."  In  the 
sitting-room  Colonel  Fellowes  found  evidence  of  Sally's 
industry.  She  was  making  herself  under-garments,  and 
had  no  false  shame  about  it. 

"  They're  so  much  cheaper  to  make  at  home,"  she  said, 
folding  them  neatly  before  putting  them  away.  "  I'll  clear 
the  table,  and  then  I  can  get  you  some  tea.  It  was  very 
kind  of  you-  to  come  and  see  me  so  soon." 

"  It  is  a  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  come  and  see  you," 
he  said  gallantly. 

She  laughed  at  that.  He  found  her  entirely  unaffected, 
and  even  easier  to  talk  to  than  she  had  been  in  Curzon 
Street.  She  liked  this  kind  and  handsome  elderly  gentle- 
man. This  was  the  point  that  escaped  Colonel  Fellowes. 
In  the  eyes  of  a  girl  of  nineteen  he  was  a  very  elderly 

269 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

gentleman.  She  did  not  in  the  least  realize  that  he  was 
trying  to  make  love  to  her,  as  he  considered  it  his  duty 
to  do.  She  thought  he  was  being  kind,  that  Kiddie  had 
asked  him  to  be  kind.  She  was  delighted  with  the  chain 
when  he  produced  it.  She  tried  it  on  before  the  glass, 
ran  it  through  her  fingers,  put  it  against  her  cheek,  and 
was  over  grateful  and  happy  in  its  possession : 

"It's  so  good  of  you,  so  awfully,  awfully  good  of  you. 
I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you.  It  will  look  so  lovely 
on  my  grey  dress.  I  can't  believe  it's  really  for  me.  .  .  ." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  accept  it."  The  Colonel  was 
perhaps  a  little  old-fashioned.  "  I  call  it  a  privilege  to  be 
allowed  to  buy  jewellery  for  pretty  girls." 

"  Oh  !  I  do  hope  it  was  not  very  expensive." 

But  Sally  knew  much  more  of  the  price  of  clothes  than 
jewellery. 

The  Colonel  reassured  her  on  the  score  of  expense.  He 
stayed  quite  a  long  time,  talking,  paying  her  old-fashioned 
compliments,  thinking  he  was  making  great  headway  with 
her,  when  she  smiled  and  dimpled,  and  accepted  these 
greedily.  She  liked  praise. 

The  Colonel  stayed  until  Edgar  Levi  came  with  some 
proofs  from  the  photographers  and  an  appointment  with 
an  interviewer.  Edgar  had  arrived  nearer  to  the  truth  of 
the  position  between  Miss  Mainwaring  and  Lord  Kidder- 
minster than  any  one  else  had  done.  He  was  not  sure, 
but  he  suspected.  Intuition  stood  him  in  place  of  know- 
ledge, but  it  was  brilliant  intuition. 

Meeting  Colonel  Fellowes  here,  his  lightning  mind 
darted  hither  and  thither  for  explanation  of  his  presence. 
And  the  Colonel  quickly  realized  Edgar's  interest,  although 
he  hardly  knew  whether  it  was  on  Sarita's  account  or  his 
own.  He  kissed  the  girl's  hand  in  farewell,  he  thanked 
her  for  accepting  the  chain.  Instinctively  he  knew  she 

270 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

was  a  novi6e,  yet  concluded  on  the  scanty  evidence  that 
she  was  eager  to  conclude  her  novitiate. 

"  That  young  ass  has  never  tried  her  with  jewellery," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  downstairs.  But  he  was 
sub-conscious  of  insincerity,  and  had  an  uneasy  touch  of 
pity  for  the  inevitableness  of  it  all.  "Poor  little  girl, 
I  believe  she  would  run  straight  if  she  had  half  a  chance  " 
was  in  his  mind. 

But,  after  all,  Kiddie,  and  not  Miss  Mainwaring,  was  his 
concern;  before  his  cigarette  was  well  alight  his  habitual 
mental  attitude  toward  women  had  reasserted  itself.  The 
brand  of  the  Verandah  was  upon  her,  she  was  hall-marked 
to  her  fate. 

"  What  made  him  come  ? "  asked  Edgar,  almost  before 
the  door  had  closed  behind  the  Colonel. 

"  Kiddie  asked  him,  I  think.  He  was  at  Lady  Dorothea 
Lytham's  to-day,  and  so  was  I.  .  .  ." 

The  whole  story  of  the  invitation  and  the  luncheon-party 
came  out ;  and  the  chain  was  exhibited. 

"  I've  got  my  doubts,"  Edgar  said  to  Tom  that  evening, 
when  they  saw,  as  usual,  Lord  Kidderminster  waiting  for 
the  star,  and  carrying  her  off  in  his  brougham.  "  I  don't 
mind  telling  you,  I've  got  my  doubts,  as  to  what's  up 
between  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring  and  his  lordship.  It's  not 
all  such  plain  sailing  as  you  seem  to  think." 

He  would  have  been  even  less  sure  of  the  relations 
between  the  pair  could  he  have  followed  them  into  the 
brougham. 

Kiddie  had  seen  Colonel  Fellowes  again.  In  fact,  in 
response  to  a  somewhat  insistent  note,  he  had  dined  with 
him.  at  his  club,  and  been  regaled,  not  with  a  dissertation 
upon  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring,  but  with  a  very  shrewd, 
if  a  little  trite,  discourse  upon  women  generally.  Colonel 
Fellowes  said  they  were  only  children,  affectionate,  light- 

271 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

hearted,  but  "  greedy,  iny  dear  boy,  primevally  greedy. 
They  have  their  charm,  their  wonderful  charm,  and,  of 
course,  we  can't  do  without  them;  we're  bound  to  look 
after  them,  and  give  them  things  —  dress,  jewellery,  flowers, 
toys  —  but  not  our  souls,  or  too  much  of  our  hearts,  our 
honour,  or  our  responsibilities  to  play  with." 

There  was  no  doubt  that  both  Kiddie  and  the  Colonel 
knew  a  disproportionate  number  of  light  women,  women 
who  were  not  light  professionally,  who  were  well  born, 
well  bred,  well  placed,  but  who  were  light,  because,  accord- 
ing to  Colonel  Fellowes,  this  was  the  distinguishing  feature 
of  the  sex.  In  his  middle-age  he  had  become  fond  of  talk- 
ing of  the  Brydges  case,  and  of  his  own  connection  with 
it.  He  talked  of  it  now.  He  exemplified  the  three  women 
who  had  been  connected  with  it,  and  a  fourth,  who  had 
disappeared,  but  had  been  subsequently  traced.  All  of 
them  were  habitually  up  to  the  neck  in  intrigue. 

"  But  you  can't  say  all  women  are  like  that.  Look  at 
my  mother,  for  instance,"  urged  the  boy,  eating  without 
appetite,  drinking,  thirstily,  more  than  his  share  of  the 
bottle  of  Pommery: 

"  Ah !  there  you  are  on  different  ground,  on  holy  ground. 
But  Lady  Fortive  is  one  in  a  thousand,  one  in  a  million." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  Kiddie  said,  putting  his  glass  down 
doggedly.  "I'll  grant  you  all  you  say  about  the  women 
we  know,  but  I  think  it's  just  accident  that  we  know  so 
many  of  the  sort.  I  believe  there  are  just  as  many  women 
like  my  mother,  if  we  could  only  get  at  them." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  you  let  me  know  when  you  find  one  other, 
that's  all,  you  let  me  know.  And  then  I'll  try  her  with 
jewellery  for  you."  He  laughed: 

"It's  a  great  test,  the  jewellery  test.  Goethe  knew  a 
thing  or  two." 

Kiddie  felt  a  pricking  sensation  about  the  hands;  and 

272 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

a  great  heat  burned,  increased  in  him,  reddened  his  cheeks 
and  brightened  his  eyes : 

"You're  hinting  at  Miss  Main  waring  ?  You  believe 
she  would  take  jewellery  from  any  fellow?  .  .  ." 

Colonel  Fellowes  did  not  want  to  say  it.  But  Kiddie 
had  set  him  thinking  about  Lady  Fortive,  she  did  not  de- 
serve to  have  a  Verandah  Theatre  girl  thrust  upon  her  as 
daughter-in-law.  It  must  not  be.  He,  too,  tossed  off  his 
glass : 

"Miss  Mainwaring  did  not  make  any  bones  about 
accepting  a  ruby  chain  from  me  this  afternoon,"  he  said, 
quietly. 

Kiddie,  too,  became  quiet  under  this  blow,  quiet  and 
rather  white.  Colonel  Fellowes  did  not  like  it ;  he  felt 
definitely  that  he  was  behaving  like  a  blackguard.  Theo- 
retically, this  sort  of  thing  was  all  very  well,  Kiddie  was 
idealizing  his  ballet  girl,  and  it  is  not  safe  for  heirs  to 
marquisates  to  idealize  ballet  girls.  But  practically  Colonel 
Fellowes  felt  he  was  behaving  like  a  blackguard. 

He  stood  up,  they  were  almost  alone  in  the  club  dining- 
room,  and  he  began  to  talk  in  a  different  key  : 

"  Look  here,  Kiddie,  now,  don't  get  angry  with  me,  I'm 
years  older  than  you,  I've  knocked  about  the  world,  I've  seen 
women,  girls,  in  Egypt,  India,  in  South  Africa,  of  all  sorts 
and  colours;  I  know  my  subject.  You  are  contemplating 
marrying  this  girl,  breaking  your  mother's  heart.  .  .  ." 

Kiddie's  sunken  head  lifted. 

"  I  don't  see  why  .  .  ."  he  began. 

"  Let  me  speak,  let  me  get  out  what  I've  got  to  say.  I'm 
not  even  going  to  ask  how  you  think  your  father  will 
take  it.  No !  the  point  is  ...  it  isn't  good  enough.  You 
can  get  what  you  want  from  her  without  wrecking  your 
life.  There,  it's  not  a  thing  one  likes  to  say,  but  there  is 
no  use  blinking  it.  And  you  are  not  free ;  there  is  your 
x  273 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

mother,  your  father  to  think  of,  and  all  they  expect  from 
you.  You  have  got  a  position  to  keep  up.  .  .  ." 

"  That's  all  rot,  what  good  am  I  ?  You  know  I  am  no 
good.  I've  got  no  brains;  the  governor  won't  make  any- 
thing of  me  by  trying  to  shove  me  into  the  army,  or  the 
Diplomatic  Service,  or  the  House,  do  you  think  I  don't 
know  ?  " 

"  Well !  If  you  are  not  a  genius,  if  you  are  bound  to 
be,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  disappointment  to  him,  it  doesn't 
follow  that  you  need  ask  him  to  accept  a  daughter-in- 
law  "  —  he  hesitated  a  little,  watching  Kiddie  —  "  off  the 
stage." 

Kiddie  began  walking  about : 

"You  don't  think  I  want  to  do  it.  ...  I  know  what 
you're  driving  at."  He  got  very  red,  then  a  little  white, 
hardened  himself,  and  went  on.  "  You  think  she  will  come 
and  live  with  me.  Well,  she  won't,  that's  flat."  He  got 
paler  still.  "I've  tried  her." 

"But  you  have  not  given  her  any  jewellery.  What  have 
you  done  for  her,  what  have  you  offered  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up." 

Kiddie  closed  his  ears ;  he  did  not  know  the  depth  of  his 
own  feeling  yet,  but  he  knew  how  this  hurt.  He  had  an 
ineffable  tenderness  for  Sally,  the  sort  of  tenderness  boys 
conceal  under  a  certain  gruffness,  or  rough  badinage.  It 
ached  in  him,  it  must  be  hidden,  denied,  concealed. 

Colonel  Fellowes  had  his  say  out.  But  when  the  evening 
was  over,  and  they  had  separated,  the  Colonel  to  his  rooms, 
Kiddie  presumably  to  his,  the  stage-door  of  the  Verandah 
still  drew  him  irresistibly. 

He  found  Sarita  waiting  for  him ;  the  Colonel  had  been  a 
little  garrulous,  and  he  was  later  than  usual.  In  the 
brougham  he  found  it  impossible  to  talk  to  her.  He 
wanted  to  ask  Sarita  about  Colonel  Fellowes'  visit,  and 

274 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

about  the  chain.  But,  in  the  end,  he  asked  about 
neither. 

He  gave  her  supper  at  the  Savoy.  The  red-shaded  lamp 
between  them  accentuated  her  beauty,  making  it  richer, 
fuller,  more  vivid.  It  made  Kiddie  look  rather  blotchy,  and 
he  was  very  silent.  Sally  thought  he  was,  perhaps,  a 
little  fuddled  with  wine,  she  was  only  semi-educated, 
with  her  early  experiences  for  teacher.  She  thought  none 
the  worse  of  Kiddie  on  this  account,  but  was  careful  not  to 
"  upset  him." 

To-night  Kiddie  was  feeling  her  charm  in  every  throb- 
bing pulse  and  breath  of  him.  He  could  hardly  bear  to 
look  at  her.  For,  if  Fellowes  was  right,  she  was  still  his  for 
the  taking.  And  if  Fellowes  was  wrong  .  .  .  ?  He  knew 
she  was  different  from  any  girl  he  had  ever  met.  His 
mother  was  so  wide-minded,  so  unprejudiced;  he  recalled  her 
letter.  If  there  was  no  other  way  ...  as  he  looked  at 
Sally,  although  to-night  he  could  hardly  bear  to  look  at  her, 
he  knew,  if  there  were  no  other  way,  Sally  must  be  Lady 
Kidderminster.  He  was  not  going  to  do  without  her;  he 
had  not  been  brought  up  to  do  without  things. 

He  felt  fiercely  about  her  to-night.  When  Jerry  and 
Clive  came  over  to  talk  to  her,  although  Jerry  and  Olive 
were  pals,  and  had  been  at  all  the  theatrical  suppers,  he 
scowled  at  them,  and  mentally  "  damned  "  their  impudence. 
He  was  impatient  with  everything  they  said,  and  showed 
his  impatience.  That  made  Clive  have  his  chair  brought 
over,  and  join  them  for  coffee,  chaffing  Kiddie,  as  in  the 
old  Eton  days,  commenting  on  his  want  of  hospitality. 
When  the  semi-darkness  set  in,  they  turned  out  the  greater 
part  of  the  electric  light  at  twelve  o'clock,  in  accordance  with 
some  socialistic  law,  Kiddie's  silence  became  yet  more 
marked. 

"  You're  tired,  aren't  you  ?  "  Sally  said,  when  they  were 

275 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

groping  their  way  out.  "  Don't  come  all  the  way  with  me 
to-night.  Let  me  take  a  cab,  I'll  get  along  all  right." 

"  I  dare  say !  Perhaps  you'd  like  Clive  to  see  you 
home  ?  "  he  answered  rudely.  Confirmed  in  her  suspicion 
as  to  his  condition,  Sally  shrugged  her  shoulders,  smiled, 
and  said  nothing. 

In  the  brougham  again,  he  felt  sorry  he  had  spoken 
so  impatiently ;  it  was  this  acute  tenderness  that  was 
torturing  him. 

"I  say,  you  mustn't  take  any  notice  of  what  I  say  to- 
night; I'm  out  of  sorts." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind ;  you  ought  to  take  a  long  sleep  in  the 
morning,  that's  what  father  used  to  do." 

"Sarita!" 

Kiddie  tried  to  take  her  hand ;  his  own  were  very  hot. 
She  surrendered  her  hand,  and  it  lay  cool  and  supine  in 
his.  Then  she  yawned,  not  deliberately,  but  because  she 
was  tired : 

"  Don't  try  and  get  talking,"  she  said ;  "  it's  best  to  sleep 
it  off." 

"I  can't  sleep  it  off.  ...  I  can't  get  any  sleep,"  he 
began  passionately. 

But  her  merry  laugh  was  like  a  cold  douche. 

"Not  sleep!  Well!  I  like  that.  You  could  hardly 
keep  awake  at  supper.  Here  we  are.  I  .am  glad  to  be 
home.  What  a  day  it's  been  —  a  hundred  hours  in  it. 
Don't  get  out." 

She  turned  the  handle,  jumping  out  lightly.  She  had 
rung  for  the  lift  before  he  had  collected  himself.  There 
was  no  way  to  touch  or  hold  her  to-night ;  her  youth  was 
too  slippery,  it  gave  no  foothold.  Perhaps  she  was  acting 
a  little,  she  seemed  less  natural  than  usual  as  she  stood 
waiting  for  the  lift,  perhaps  she  saw  the  danger-signal  in 
his  eyes.  She  was  in  the  lift,  and  mounting  out  of  his 

276 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

sight,  when  this  thought  suddenly  struck  him.    Her  elusive- 
ness  became  a  new  lure. 

"  I'll  be  with  you  early  in  the  morning.  I  want  to 
speak  to  you,"  he  shouted  after  her.  It  was  undignified, 
but  his  dignity  had  left  him.  He  was  fearfully  excited, 
uncertain  of  her,  or  of  himself,  intensely  bent  now  on  his 
own  way.  Colonel  Fellowes  had  achieved  nothing.  The 
game,  had  she  but  known  it,  lay  entirely  in  the  unpractised 
hands  of  Miss  Sarita  Mainwaring. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DAY  dawned,  and  was  still  young  when  it  found  Lord 
Kidderminster  in  Sally's  sitting-room.  Kiddie  was 
very  jumpy  this  morning.  He  had  a  desperate  desire  to 
believe  that  Freddy  Fellowes  was  right,  and  that  he  had  not 
sufficiently  forced  the  running  with  Sarita.  He  let  himself 
go  this  morning,  and  he  succeeded  in  transferring  a  modi- 
cum of  his  trouble  to  Sarita,  breaking  up  her  happy  thought- 
lessness of  security.  More  than  once  he  induced  her  to  kiss 
him. 

He  left  her,  indeed,  before  that  day  ended,  with  her 
brave  spirit  wavering,  and  her  child's  mind  aflame.  His 
own  heart  was  thumping  with  a  sense  of  coming  triumph. 
He  saw  well  enough  what  he  had  done,  and  yet  he  was  not 
entirely  happy.  His  small  success  had  meant  her  distress, 
and  his  own  doubts. 

In  truth,  the  enemy  was  no  longer  quite  outside  the 
citadel.  They  were  only  boy  and  girl ;  there  was  little  to 
set  them  apart.  Social  differences  had  been  forgotten  be- 
tween them,  and  he  had  been  a  good  companion  to  her, 
hardly  cleverer,  little  more  cultivated,  barely  more  ex- 
perienced than  herself.  Unconsciously  Sally  had  grown  to 
care  for  him.  He  had  had  her  taught  to  ride,  and  talked 
of  the  exhilaration  of  hunting.  He  had  taught  her  to 
drive,  she  had  felt  the  generous  tug  of  the  horses,  and  her 
girPs  hand  guiding  them.  All  these  pleasures  had  come 
from  Kiddie,  so  much  had  come  from  Kiddie.  She  had  the 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

great  quality  of  gratitude,  and  was  quickly  appreciative. 
This  morning  he  told  her  she  was  making  him  unhappy, 
ruining  his  life.  Perhaps  something  spoke  within  her  this 
time  ;  when  he  kissed  her  she  no  longer  resisted  him.  He 
knew  she  was  fond  of  him. 

The  days  went  on.  If  Lady  Dorothea  had  not  interfered, 
if  no  one  had  interfered,  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  might 
have  happened.  The  club  world,  and  the  theatre  world, 
knew  that  Lord  Kidderminster  was  "running"  the  new 
danseuse  at  the  Verandah.  The  Press  knew  it,  too,  but 
faithful  to  its  best  tradition,  the  Press  kept  silent.  Be- 
tween the  two  young  people  there  was  a  nameless  excite- 
ment, a  strange  intimacy,  a  stranger  silence  ;  and  every  day 
was  too  short  for  them. 

"  Don't  stay  in  town  over  Sunday,"  Kiddie  said  to  her, 
with  eyes  averted,  voice  thick  and  strangled,  "let's  go 
down  to  Brighton  for  the  week-end.  I'll  fetch  you  in  the 
new  six-cylinder,  after  the  play.  We  can  do  Brighton  in  a 
couple  of  hours ;  the  night  journey  will  be  rather  fine.  You 
love  the  sea,  don't  you  ?  " 

The  spring  of  the  year  was  in  the  air,  and  spring  was  in 
both  their  hearts. 

"  Not  this  Sunday,  not  this  very  next  Sunday."  That  had 
always  been  Sarita's  answer. 

But  her  eyes  had  lost  all  their  gladness,  and  were 
strained,  and  startled,  her  laugh  had  lost  its  crispness. 
Her  dance  had  improved,  the  music  in  it,  and  the  poetry 
of  it,  seemed  to  have  more  meaning.  She  was  only  quite 
happy  when  she  was  dancing;  it  carried  her  outside 
herself,  outside  all  those  thoughts  that  could  not  be  long 
absent  when  Kiddie  was  so  constantly  with  her.  He  was 
very  good  to  her,  she  wished  he  was  not  so  ...  so  restless. 

The  next  Sunday  again  she  put  him  off.  But  perhaps 
she  would  always  have  put  him  off.  This  time  she  said  it 

279 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

was  because  she  had  invited  company.  Mary  and  Alf  were 
coming  to  see  her,  she  wanted  very  badly  to  see  them, 
so  Kiddie  must  do  without  her.  The  day  seemed  very 
long  to  him,  extraordinarily  long,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  which  to  look  forward  in  the  evening !  He  thought  it  a 
cursed  arrangement  that  the  theatres  did  not  open  on 
Sundays. 

Sally  made  quite  a  little  gala  for  her  expected  visitors. 
She  ordered  a  special  dinner  of  fowls  and  a  ham,  an  apple 
pudding,  and  some  Stilton  cheese.  Kiddie  knew  all  about 
Alf  and  Mary.  He  wanted  to  be  asked  to  meet  them  at 
dinner,  but  Sally  knew  they  would  be  happier  without  him. 
She  wrote,  however,  a  very  pretty  little  letter,  fairly  well 
spelt,  entreating  Ursula  Rugeley  to  the  feast,  and  that  lady, 
although  not  accepting  for  dinner,  promised  to  come  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon. 

It  was  the  first  party  Sally  had  given,  and  she  was  very 
excited  about  it;  she  was  easily  excitable  now.  Kiddie 
had  filled  the  place  with  flowers,  but  Sally  put  half  of  them 
away.  It  was  her  old  life  she  was  hankering  after,  groping 
for,  she  was  trying  to  regain  the  secure  foundations  that 
had  been  hers.  Everything  had  been  shifting  in  these 
strange  few  weeks,  she  felt  giddy,  and  as  if  her  feet  were 
not  firm  on  the  ground.  But  all  her  sensations  were  con- 
fused.  She  was  never  quite  without  the  memory  of 
Kiddie's  kisses.  She  was  never  quite  happy  away  from 
him,  nor  with  him,  although  she  did  not  want  him  with 
Mary  and  Alf,  nor  with  Ursula  E-ugeley.  She  wanted  to 
hear  her  old  friends  talk  to  her,  and  to  each  other.  She 
wanted  to  get  back  to  simplicity,  to  the  time  when  neither 
thought  nor  sensation  was  confused.  They  must  not  talk 
to  her  of  her  life,  nor  of  the  theatre,  but  of  themselves,  of 
the  factory.  She  thought  that  would  cure  her  of  her  giddi- 
ness and  confusion. 

280 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Mary  looked  quite  pretty  in  her  pink  cotton  blouse,  and 
the  large  hat  with  its  white  feather.  As  she  kissed  Sally 
she  exclaimed : 

"  What  a  fuss  they  make  of  you !  I  never !  Alf  and  me 
went  to  see  you  last  night.  You  didn't  know  we  were  in 
the  house,  did  you  ?  We  tried  to  get  round  to  the  stage- 
door,  but  there  was  such  a  crowd.  I  say,  what  furniture, 
and  a  piano  !  Alf,  do  you  see  the  piano  ?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  one  was  gladder  than  me  and  Mary 
to  know  how  you'd  come  along,  and  to  hear  them  clapping 
you.  Charlie  would  have  been  proud,  too,"  Alf  added,  his 
face  clouding. 

Sally  reddened. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  Mr.  Peastone,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  Oh,  God !  if  he  should  have  been  right !  "  whispered  a 
voice  from  the  innermost  recesses  of  her  heart. 

"  Tell  me  what's  going  on  at  the  factory,  and  what's 
Luke  Cullen  and  all  of  you  doing ;  and  have  you  fixed  up 
anything  yet  about  a  house  ?  " 

She  talked  more  than  she  used,  and  yet  they  did  not 
think  she  was  so  gay.  She  took  Mary  into  her  bedroom. 

"I  say,  you  have  got  things  about  you,  toney  things," 
said  Mary,  who  loved  the  walnut  furniture  and  the  brass 
bed.  She  was  not  exactly  envious,  because,  of  course, 
whatever  else  Sally  had,  she  had  not  got  Alf.  But  Mary's 
mind  was  on  furniture,  on  little  but  furniture  just  now,  and 
it  was  natural  she  should  look  about  her. 

"How  your  hair  has  come  on,"  said  Sally,  when  Mary 
had  taken  off  her  hat  before  the  walnut  swing-mirror. 

Mary,  combing  out  her  crimped  fringe,  smiled  compla- 
cently at  her  reflection : 

"  It's  happiness,  my  dear.  It's  been  growing  ever  since 
me  and  Alf  walked  out  together.  Alf  says  it's  too  fine, 
that's  all  the  matter  with  it.  I've  left  off  all  them  stuffs, 

281 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

and  it  grows  better  without  them ;  it's  half-way  down  my 
waist  now."  She  was  quite  prepared  to  exhibit  it. 

"  Don't  you  pull  it  down,  you've  done  it  up  so  nice.  It 
is  soft." 

"  I  know,  of  course,  it's  not  quite  so  much  as  yours,  but 
then,  yours  is  coarse." 

Sally  laughed. 

"  You  know  it  is,"  insisted  Mary,  in  the  old  manner. 

"Never  you  mind  about  my  hair,  come  and  look  at  the 
bathroom ;  there  is  hot  and  cold,  and  nobody  else  can  use 
it,  it's  all  mine.  Shall  I  turn  it  on  and  show  you  ?  " 

Mary  told  of  a  flat  she  and  Alf  had  seen  at  Dalston.  She 
hadn't  thought  of  a  flat,  but  Alf's  mother  suggested  it. 
Now  she  had  seen  Sally's,  she  should  go  again. 

"  But  it  must  cost  you  an  awful  lot.  What  are  you  get- 
ting, Sal?  Nobody  seems  to  know.  Alf  says  you  ought 
to  be  putting  something  by.  Dancing  is  not  like  making 
jam  and  pickles,  people  never  get  tired  of  jam  and  pickles ; 
there's  always  work  to  be  had  there." 

Sally  found  Mary  rather  dull.  She  hurried  over  her 
dressing  so  that  they  might  join  Alf.  The  dinner  was 
rather  long  in  coming,  but  Alf  carved  beautifully,  and 
Mary  admired  him  all  the  time.  It  all  came  out  during 
dinner.  The  banns  had  been  called  once.  Alf  and  Mary 
were  really  going  to  get  married  in  a  few  weeks,  and  go  to 
Eastbourne,  for  a  week-end,  for  their  honeymoon.  They 
were  going  to  start  their  married  life  living  with  Alf's 
mother.  She  had  a  shop  at  Dalston,  a  little  grocery  shop, 
and  that  was  why  they  had  looked  at  a  flat  in  Dalston. 
But  the  flat  must  be  for  the  future.  For  the  present,  there 
was  Mrs.  Stevens'  spare  room,  and  the  furniture  Alf  was 
going  to  put  in  it.  Mary  had  much  to  tell  of  Mrs.  Stevens, 
and  her  kindness,  of  what  Alf  had  said  on  this,  that,  or 
the  other  occasion,  of  what  she  intended  to  wear  at  her 

282 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

wedding,  and  what  the  girls  at  the  factory  said  in  their 
jealousy  at  her  good  luck  in  getting  Alf. 

Sally  was  interested  in  it  all ;  they  took  it  for  granted  that 
she  would  be.  Mary  showed  openly  that  Alf  was  as  a  god  in 
her  eyes.  It  was  all  right  to  show  how  much  you  cared  for 
the  man  who  was  going  to  be  your  husband.  And  Alf  Stevens 
was  a  good  little  fellow.  Not  like  some  one  Sarita  knew, 
not  tall,  and  straight,  and  strong,  with  eyes  that  set  your 
heart  beating,  and  a  voice  you  heard  all  through  you.  But 
a  nice  little  man  all  the  same  ;  he  and  Mary  would  be  very 
happy.  All  in  a  whirl  went  Sally's  thoughts  again. 

"  Tell  me  some  more,  Mary,"  she  said,  to  steady  herself, 
"go  on  talking.  I  do  like  to  hear  it  all." 

The  waits  between  the  fowls  and  the  pudding,  the  pud- 
ding and  the  cheese,  were  all  too  short.  Sometimes  Sally 
thought  it  dull,  and  her  thoughts  wandered.  Sometimes 
she  thought  she  could  never  tire  of  hearing  Mary  and  Alf 
talk,  of  seeing  them  hold  each  other's  hands,  and  pass  tit- 
bits to  each  other  on  the  same  fork.  She  promised  to  go 
to  the  wedding.  She  wanted  Mary  to  be  married  from  her 
flat ;  but  Mary  said  the  arrangements  were  all  made.  Mrs. 
Stevens  had  made  them,  and  she  mustn't  be  upset,  she'd 
been  so  kind.  Alf  was  going  to  pay  his  mother  a  pound 
a  week  for  the  two  of  them ;  he'd  only  been  giving  her 
twelve-and-six  for  himself.  Mary  went  into  many  details. 

At  four  o'clock  Miss  Eugeley  came.  Sally  was  glad  when 
Mary  and  Alf  left  her  alone  with  her  kind  friend.  The 
young  couple  had  promised  to  go  to  Mrs.  Stevens'  for  tea, 
and  they  mustn't  disappoint  Mrs.  Stevens  ! 

But  when  Sally  found  herself  alone  with  Miss  Rugeley, 
it  seemed  she  had  nothing  to  say  to  her.  So  she  suggested 
tea ;  rang  for  what  she  wanted,  made  it,  and  poured  it  out, 
cutting  the  bread  and  butter  thin,  and  handing  the  cake : 

"  How  nicely  you  do  everything  now,"  Ursula  said. 

283 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Not  well  enough,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"  Not  well  enough  for  what,  for  whom  ?  " 

Again  the  red  flushed  in  her  cheeks.  Yet  how  could  her 
old  friend  guess  she  was  thinking  how  much  better  Lord 
Kidderminster  must  have  seen  tea  served ! 

Presently  Ursula  began  to  question  her  about  her  com- 
panions, and  her  daily  life  at  the  theatre.  Sally's  candour 
halted,  her  truthfulness  faltered : 

"  It's  nearly  all  work,  rehearsals  and  dancing  lessons, 
and  singing  lessons." 

"  I  still  wish  you  had  been  in  Mr.  Benson's  company,  or 
at  His  Majesty's,  or  the  Haymarket.  I  never  like  to  think 
of  your  dancing  in  public." 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  dancing." 

The  tea-making  was  done  and  the  tray  put  neatly  out- 
side. Now  Sally  sat  on  the  hearth-rug  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  Ursula,  from  her  easy  chair,  looked  down  at  her  with 
tender  interest.  She  knew,  none  better,  how  straight  and 
simple  Sally  was.  But  even  Ursula  Rugeley  had  heard 
that  the  young  ladies  on  the  musical  comedy  stage  were 
not  always  thoroughly  respectable.  She  had  come  princi- 
pally to  talk  about  that  to  Sally  ;  not  exactly  to  warn  her, 
but  to  beg  her  to  be  careful  about  her  companions,  to  offer 
her  own  companionship  to  Sally  for  any  unoccupied  hours. 
A  hesitant  word  brought  Sally's  quick  reply : 

"  The  girls  are  good  enough,  Miss  Rugeley.  They're  just 
like  me,  working  hard,  taking  a  bit  of  fun  if  it  comes  our  way. 
Most  of  them  have  got  friends,"  .  .  .  then  she  paused : 

"  Other  girls  ?  " 

"  No,  fellows,  '  boys,'  they  call  them,  but  they're  mostly 
grown  up." 

"  Young  men  to  whom  they  are  engaged  ?  " 

Sally  hesitated,  staring  into  the  fire. 

"  No,  not  exactly  engaged." 

284 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  With  whom  they  walk  out  ?  " 

Ursula  had  learnt  the  language  of  the  people  she  served. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  it  that.  They're  nice  fellows,  most  of 
them.  They  give  the  girls  dinners,  or  suppers,  sometimes 
a  dress,  or  a  bit  of  jewellery.  .  .  ." 

"Surely  girls  ought  not  to  take  presents  from  young 
men !  Unless,  of  course,  they  are  going  to  marry  them  ?  " 

"  They're  good  girls,  quite  good  girls,"  Sally  persisted, 
still  staring  into  the  fire.  "There's  Milly  and  Ada,  and 
the  other  two  in  the  quartette ;  they  help  their  people  a  lot, 
almost  all  their  screw  goes  in  it.  They'd  have  nothing  but 
work  if  it  weren't  for  their  '  boys.'  As  it  is,  they  get  to  the 
Carlton  and  the  Savoy,  and  Romano's,  instead  of  only  to 
tea-shops  by  themselves.  Milly  has  got  a  beautiful  ring, 
and  a  watch  with  her  name  in  diamonds.  Her  '  boy '  is  in 
the  Guards,  but  he's  only  a  lieutenant.  Sir  John  Delorrne 
takes  Ada  about,  his  wife  is  in  the  South  of  France.  He's 
awfully  good  to  her;  she's  much  older  than  me,  but  she 
says  she's  never  had  such  a  pal.  They're  real  good  girls, 
Miss  Rugeley,"  earnestly.  Then  she  said,  in  a  lower  voice  : 
"  There  are  some  other  ones  .  .  .  not  so  good,  perhaps ! 
It's  very  difficult.  .  .  ." 

The  district  visitor  grew  chilled.  But  Sally  must  not  see 
that  she  was  startled  at  what  she  heard.  She  must  obtain, 
and  retain,  the  girl's  confidence.  Ursula,  having  learnt 
broad  charity  late,  and  with  infinite  difficulty,  hoped  that 
all  Sally  told  her  was  true,  and  these  girls  were  as  good  as 
she  described. 

"It  can't  be  right  for  them  to  accept  presents,"  she 
repeated,  after  a  pause.  "  It  must  destroy  their  indepen- 
dence, their  self-respect." 

"Why  shouldn't  we  take  from  those  who've  got  more 
than  we  have  —  seeing  how  they  like  giving  ?  "  Sally  asked 
defiantly,  almost  violently. 

285 


THE   HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

And  Ursula  knew,  all  at  once,  knew,  in  that  luminous, 
small  soul  of  hers,  that  Sally  was  asking  for  help,  for 
guidance.  She  prayed  before  she  answered,  those  wordless 
prayers  good  women  so  often  put  up  out  of  church.  "  Help 
me  to  help  her,  0  Christ"  was  what  she  prayed.  And  her 
maidenhood,  old  as  it  was,  and  withered,  shrank  from  the 
thoughts  she  must  think,  fearful  how  to  cloak  them. 
And  she  was  ashamed,  for  she  knew  Sally's  purity.  She 
had  to  fight  her  own  fight  before  speech  came. 

Meanwhile  Sally's  bright  eyes  watched  the  flames,  on 
her  lips  she  felt  Kiddie's  kisses,  and  his  brooch  burned 
at  her  throat,  that  brooch  he  had  given  her  but  yester- 
day. 

*'  If  you  take  these  good  gifts,  there  is  a  chance,  a 
possibility,  you  may  be  asked  .  .  .  for  some  return." 
Ursula's  shrunk  cheeks  had  a  painful  pink,  and  her  voice 
was  low.  But  Sally  heard. 

"  You  can't  take  everything,  and  give  nothing.  What 
you  have  to  give  is  very  precious." 

Then  Sally's  eyes  flashed  their  question  to  her. 

"Is  it?"  she  cried,  "is  it?" 

And  then  she  hid  her  face  quite  suddenly,  and  began  to 
cry.  It  was  the  first  time  Ursula  Rugeley  had  seen  Sally 
cry.  She  had  seen  her  cold,  and  known  her  hungry,  but 
always  she  had  been  so  strong. 

Ursula  put  her  hand  on  the  red  head,  softly,  tenderly, 
praying  all  the  time,  inwardly,  for  help.  She  was  so 
ignorant  of  this  kind  of  struggle. 

"Poor  Sally,"  were  all  the  words  she  had  —  trembling 
words  —  "  poor  Sally." 

"  I  won't  be  pitied." 

The  girl's  head  went  up,  and  she  spoke  passionately.  "  I 
can  take  care  of  myself."  It  was  the  old  brave  war-cry, 
although  Ursula  could  now  hear  a  weakness  in  it. 

286 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"I  know,  I  know  you  can,"  the  old  maid  answered, 
tremulously. 

"He  likes  me  better  nor  anything.  Why  shouldn't  he 
give  me  things  ?  " 

Ursula's  tremulous  lips  opened  and  closed. 

"  Help  me  to  help  her,  0  God,"  she  was  praying  all  the  time. 

"You  are  so  young  .  .  ."  she  stammered. 

"  He's  not  more  than  twenty-three  himself."  Sally  took 
her  courage  in  both  hands.  "  It  isn't  as  if  he  doesn't  care 
for  me.  And  he'll  look  after  me  always.  I  can't  never  go 
back  to  the  factory,  or  to  the  tailoring ;  and  they  mayn't 
always  like  my  dancing,"  she  faltered. 

"  Oh,  Sally  !  and  once  you  were  so  proud  !  " 

That  cry  was  involuntary,  but  no  studied  speech  could 
have  been  more  effectual. 

"  Proud  I  was,  was  I  ?  "  Sally's  eyes  shone  question- 
ingly.  "  But  this  doesn't  seem  like  being  proud,  it  seems 
like  being  mean.  He  only  wants  me  to  love  him,  some- 
times I  think  I  do !  And  he  wants  me  always  to  be 
with  him.  .  .  ." 

"  Giving  up  your  independence  ?  " 

"  I  need  not  go  off  the  stage  altogether." 

It  was  Ursula  Rugeley  who  cried  now,  the  dry  old  maid, 
and  Sally  who  comforted  her. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rugeley,  and  you've  been  so  good  to  me  too, 
times  and  times  again !  I  didn't  go  for  to  hurt  you,  you 
know  I  didn't.  I  won't  do  anything  you  don't  like.  Give 
over  crying,  tell  me  what  I  must  do.  I  know  I  can't  stay 
on  here  .  .  .  and  see  him  every  day,  and  take  things  from 
him.  I  don't  want  to  go  with  him  ...  I  want  to  be  free, 
and  keep  myself  respectable.  But  I  do  like  him,  I  do ! 
Oh !  help  me." 

They  clung  to  each  other  a  minute.  Sally  had  never 
been  so  demonstrative. 

287 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Ursula,  too,  who  had  never  known  petting,  found  loving, 
gentle  things  to  say.  Sally  had  always  been  so  good,  so 
steady.  Ursula  had  been  so  proud  of  her.  She  could  never 
do  a  thing  like  this ;  Ursula  would  think  of  a  way,  she  was 
sure  she  could  think  of  a  way. 

"  Oh,  Sally,  dear  Sally,  chastity  is  enjoined  on  us ;  it 
would  break  my  heart  if  you  fell  away  from  it.  You  shall 
never  want,  I  promise  you  that." 

The  emotional  part  of  the  interview  lasted  so  short  a 
time.  Neither  of  them  was  given  to  emotion.  Sally  got 
up  from  the  hearthrug  quite  soon  and  began  to  clear  away 
the  tea-things.  If  her  eyes  showed  signs  of  weeping,  they 
were,  nevertheless,  brighter,  and  they  saw  more  clearly 
than  they  had  done  for  many  weeks. 

Those  prayers  had  all  been  heard,  the  words  had  come 
for  which  Ursula  asked.  They  had  been  few,  weak  and 
feeble  they  seemed  to  her,  but  they  had  gone  straight  home. 
Yes;  Sally  saw  more  clearly  now.  She  would  never  be 
Lord  Kidderminster's  mistress.  She  was  proud,  she  did 
respect  herself,  she  could  do  without  any  one. 

They  talked  of  quite  commonplace  matters  for  a  little 
while.  Then  Sally  put  on  her  outdoor  things,  and  walked 
with  Miss  Rugeley  to  meet  the  omnibus.  Neither  of  them 
spoke  again  of  what  had  so  greatly  moved  both.  Ursula 
did  not  ask  from  whom  Sally's  temptation  came,  it  was 
not  that  way  she  had  gained  the  girl's  confidence. 

"  This  is  your  'bus,"  Sally  said,  hailing  the  lumbering, 
yellow  conveyance. 

"Yes,  so  it  is.  Well,  good-bye,  dear.  ...  I  wish,  I 
wish  I  could  have  helped  you  more." 

"I'm  all  right.  I  really  am  all  right  now."  Sally 
smiled  through  a  mist,  but  still  she  smiled.  "Never  you 
fear,  you've  helped  me  a  lot." 

288 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

KIDDIE  spent  that  dull  Sunday  less  profitably.     He 
bored  himself  for  a  good  many  hours  during  "  church 
parade,"  and  sitting  through  a  dull  luncheon-party  at  Lady 
Cleeve's.     Afterwards  he  went  to  call  on  Lady  Dorothea. 

Her  room  was  full  of  visitors,  but  he  found  their  chatter 
depressing  and  commonplace.  When  the  crowd  cleared  off 
a  little,  Dorothea  beckoned  him  nearer  to  her,  and  began 
to  rally  him.  She  had  recently  heard  the  whispers  at  the 
clubs,  the  jests  behind  the  scenes : 

"  Come  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  Kiddie.  Pm  dying  to 
hear." 

"  All  about  what  ?  "  he  said  sullenly,  moving  nearer  to 
her,  however,  with  something  like  an  appeal  in  his  eyes. 
He  did  not  want  to  be  chaffed,  yet  he  longed  for  some 
one  to  whom  he  could  talk,  in  whom  he  might  confide. 
But  there  was  no  softness  of  comprehension  about  Lady 
Dorothea : 

"About  the  flat,"  she  said  boldly.  "Oh!  I  know  all 
about  it,  everybody  knows.  But  why  did  you  take  a 
flat  in  Victoria?  It  might  just  as  well  be  Bloomsbury. 
Of  course,  when  I  went  there,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  your 
show  !  Who  would  have  dreamt  of  your  setting  up  house 
in  Tillery  Mansions  ?  You  really  are  unconventional, 
Kiddie,  you  do  impossible  things.  Belgravia,  now,  or  St. 
John's  Wood,  if  you  must  have  a  flat.  But  Victoria.  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

"  Well,  considering  I  introduced  you.  .  .  ." 
u  289 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"If  you're  talking  about  Miss  Mainwaring,"  he  began, 
very  hot  and  confused  at  the  sudden  attack. 

She  laughed,  she  called  Colonel  Fellowes  into  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Kiddie  doesn't  know  that  all  London  is  talking  about 
his  liaison  with  the  new  dancer  at  the  Verandah,"  she  said, 
with  that  coarse  gaiety  of  hers,  the  Desmond  heritage  and 
privilege. 

Kiddie  lost  his  temper  : 

"You  know  you  are  saying  what  isn't  true.  She's  the 
best  and  sweetest,  and  cleanest-minded,  and  purest  girl 
I've  met  since  I've  been  in  London,"  he  broke  out  with. 
"  You  may  jeer,  so  may  Fellowes.  .  .  ." 

They  were  neither  of  them  discreet,  he  in  his  cynical 
smile,  she  in  her  quick  retort.  It  ended  in  Kiddie's  ex- 
claiming : 

"If  it  were  not  for  the  governor  I'd  marry  her  to- 
morrow." 

"  And  break  your  mother's  heart,"  interposed  the  Colonel, 
startled  out  of  raillery. 

Kiddie  had  not  been  thinking  lately  of  marrying  Miss 
Sarita  Mainwaring.  All  his  dreams  and  waking  hours 
had  been  filled  differently.  But  that  Dolly  should  attack 
Sarita' s  virtue,  Dolly,  for  whom  his  contempt,  notwith- 
standing her  favours,  was  too  deep  for  words,  hurried  him 
into  unconsidered  speech. 

Dorothea  was  amazed  when  Kiddie  dashed  away  from 
Curzon  Street  in  a  rage  with  her,  with  himself,  and  every- 
thing. Colonel  Fellowes  was  made  uneasy  by  his  attitude, 
and  Dorothea  was  more  sympathetic  with  his  fears  than 
she  had  been  with  Kiddie.  Very  hurriedly  they  decided 
Lord  Fortive  must  be  informed,  a  letter  must  be  written 
to  him.  The  final  completed  missive,  however,  was  Lady 
Dorothea's.  She  forced  her  views  on  her  perturbed  but 

290 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

more  cautious  companion.  "Leave  it  to  his  people,"  she 
said ;  "  we'll  let  them  know  what  is  going  on,  and  put  it 
up  to  them  to  take  action." 

"  Dear  Uncle,"  she  wrote,  "  how  would  it  be  to  get 
Gilbert  out  of  London  for  a  bit  ?  A  word  to  the  wise  will, 
I  know,  be  sufficient  for  you,  for  you  are  so  very  wise. 
And  I'm  sure  you  don't  want  a  daughter-in-law  whose  high 
kick  is  her  great  claim  to  social  recognition !  Seriously, 
I  think  Kiddie  is  within  an  ace  of  making  a  fool  of  him- 
self. .  .  ." 

Then  the  letter  branched  off  into  messages  for  Lady 
Fortive,  and  some  wholly  apocryphal  allusions  to  Captain 
the  Hon.  Alec  Lytham.  The  separation  was  still  un- 
acknowledged. Lady  Dorothea  was  living  under  the 
shelter  of  the  honourable  name  for  which  she  had  ex- 
changed her  own.  . 

Parliament  was  not  sitting,  and  Lord  Fortive  was  en- 
joying a  limited  leisure  in  the  South  when  Dorothea's 
letter  was  forwarded  to  him.  Kiddie  had  never  given  him 
a  moment's  uneasiness  ;  but  then,  it  was  not  Lord  Fortive's 
way  to  be  uneasy  about  small  events.  Anything  that  was 
not  statecraft  was  "  small  events "  to  the  distinguished 
diplomat.  Lady  Fortive  was  with  him,  also  one  of  his 
married  daughters.  Their  villa  was  a  large  one,  almost 
outside  Monte  Carlo  itself,  on  the  road  to  Cap  Martin. 
Roses  and  carnations  overhung  the  stone  balustrade ; 
orange  trees,  bearing  their  golden  burden,  lemons,  and 
flowering  oleanders  diversified  the  waving  palms.  From 
the  breakfast-room  window  one  saw  the  dark  blue  of  the 
Mediterranean,  the  stiller,  vaguer  blue  of  the  clear  sky. 

Lord  Fortive,  grey,  erect,  and  distinguished,  came  in 
first  to  breakfast.  Lady  Fortive  was  wheeled  in  afterwards, 
and  their  daughter  was  late,  as  usual.  Lord  Fortive 
gave  the  ladies  a  little  Monte  Carlo  news.  He  had 

291 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

been  in  the  rooms  last  night,  on  the  terrace  already  this 
morning.  There  was  quite  a  crowd  on  the  terrace,  two 
of  the  Grand  Dukes  were  at  Monte,  and  Duke  Barkoff 
was  expected  from  Cannes,  where,  under  the  pretence  of 
benefiting  the  town  by  a  golf  course,  he  was  laying  out  for 
himself  an  extensive  pleasaunce.  Lord  Fortive  spoke  of 
this,  and  of  Duke  Barkoff's  pavilion  in  the  middle  of  the 
golf  course !  Lord  Fortive  had  a  sense  of  humour,  and  the 
Englishman's  appreciation  of  equality  in  sport.  The  pri- 
vate pavilion,  the  lunches  that  were  served  there,  and 
Duke  Barkoff's  prowess  at  golf,  were  all  commented  upon 
lightly. 

"  Did  you  play  with  him  ?  "  asked  Hildegarde. 

Hildegarde  had  made  a  very  great  match;  a  Prince  of 
the  Holy  Roman  Empire  had  not  disdained  an  alliance 
with  the  Fortives.  But  Hildegarde  was  generally  to  be 
found  at  the  Villa  Bella  Vista  in  the  winter,  at  Buck- 
minster  in  the  summer,  pleading,  if  pleading  were  neces- 
sary, her  mother's  health,  to  excuse  her  absence  from  the 
Prince's  side.  They  were  seen  together  sometimes,  in  the 
London  season,  or  the  Roman,  on  excellent  terms. 

"  Did  you  play  with  Duke  Barkoff  ?  "  Hildegarde  asked. 
"  I  suppose  his  golf  is  not  exactly  first-class  ?  " 

"Yes!  I  have  played  with  him."  Lord  Fortive  was 
a  diplomatist.  "His  handicap  is  eighteen;  a  courtesy 
eighteen,  I  should  call  it." 

"  Who  played  with  you  ?  " 

"It  was  a  single,  on  a  pouring  wet  morning.  Captain 
Martyn,  the  secretary,  arranged  it,  and  one  could  not,  of 
course,  refuse,  although  —  "  he  added  contemplatively, 
buttering  his  toast,  "I  should  have  preferred  stopping  in 
the  club  house,  and  reading  the  papers." 

"I  hope  you  won."  Hildegarde  passed  him  the  mar- 
malade. 

292 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Yes,  I  won,  rather  to  the  disgust  of  the  caddies,  I 
fear." 

"Can't  he  play  at  all?" 

"  He  is  painstaking,  but  length  is  not  his  strong 
point." 

"He  has  plenty  of  length  of  his  own,"  interpolated 
Hildegarde  quickly. 

"  He  seeins  stiff,  no  body  spring,"  Lord  Fortive  went  on 
complacently,  not  heeding  the  interruption.  Golf  was 
his  one  weakness,  he  liked  dwelling  upon  the  technique 
of  the  game,  he  prided  himself  on  his  style :  "  He  hits, 
rather  than  drives  the  ball ;  he  plays  from  his  elbows." 
Lord  Fortive  was  on  his  favourite  hobby,  but  he  pulled 
himself  up.  "Anyway,  he  derives  amusement  from  it, 
and  that  is  the  main  thing." 

"  Although  you  derived  little  from  playing  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  won't  say  that.  Amusement,  of  a  kind,  I  certainly 
found.  Both  my  caddie  and  his,  the  secretary  too,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken,  gave  him  a  perfect  salvo  of  applause 
at  one  drive.  He  used  his  cleek  at  the  eleventh  tee,  and 
just  carried  the  bunker." 

"  But  surely  that  is  the  short  hole !  It  isn't  eighty 
yards." 

"  Still  he  got  on  the  green."  Lord  Fortive's  smile  was 
whimsical. 

"Did  you  lunch  at  that  queer  little  hedged-in  loggia 
of  his  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  round  !  It  seemed 
curiously  remote ;  he  was  at  his  best  then,  neither  restless 
nor  reticent ;  he  talked  with  freedom,  certainly  with 
charm." 

"And  the  food?" 

"  Ah  !  I  would  give  all  his  golf  for  one  of  his  sauces." 

There  followed  a  description  of  the  food,  with  reminis- 

293 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

cences  of  the  conversation.  Lord  Fortive  liked  talking, 
and  his  women  folk  were  trained  to  listen. 

Lord  Fortive  was  too  intelligent  to  allow  the  postman  to 
interfere  with  his  meals.  After  the  very  excellent  dejeuner, 
he  adjourned  to  the  garden  for  his  cigar.  It  was  nearly 
two  o'clock  before  he  repaired  to  his  study  and  summoned 
his  secretary. 

The  letters  were  all  neatly  divided  —  affairs  "of  state, 
business  matters,  newspapers,  and  some  few  delicately- 
scented  missives  with  sprawling  addresses.  Lord  Fortive 
had  never  been  a  Stoic,  and  his  wife  was  an  invalid.  But 
he  knew  how  to  keep  his  pleasures  subordinate  to  his 
position;  he  had  never  taken  any  risks.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  strong  temperament,  and  his  brain  had  always 
dominated  his  body.  He  had  been  known  to  dictate  his 
love  letters,  or  what  passed  for  love  letters,  having  per- 
fect confidence  in  his  secretary.  But  then  he  had  perfect 
confidence  in  most  of  his  subordinates,  including  his  chil- 
dren. Men  of  affairs  have  this  habit ;  it  saves  them  time 
and  thought. 

When  he  came  to  Dorothea's  letter,  however,  he  read  it 
through  twice. 

"  Silly  woman  ! "  he  said.  "  Dorothea  has  always  been 
a  silly  woman."  Then  he  dictated  the  reply : 

"MY  DEAR  NIECE, 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  your  letter  and 
the  feeling  that  has  prompted  it.  I  will  make  myself 
acquainted  with  the  causes  of  your  kind  anxiety,  and 
act  accordingly.  In  the  meantime,  let  me  beg  you 
not  to  concern  yourself  too  deeply  with  Gilbert's 
affairs.  The  young  lady  may  kick  high,  but  I  doubt 
if  she  will  kick  away  my  boy's  good  sense  and  good 
feeling,  and  the  knowledge  of  what  he  owes  to  his 
294 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

position.  I  should  hesitate  before  I  interfered  in 
his  legitimate  amusements.  The  theatre  is  one  of 
Gilbert's  legitimate  amusements.  .  .  ." 

The  letter  went  on,  half  bantering,  giving  the  details 
asked  for  of  Lady  Fortive's  health,  and  making  perfunctory 
acknowledgment  of  Captain  Lytham's  invented  compli- 
ment. 

"  You  had  better  write  to  Lord  Kidderminster,  too," 
Lord  Fortive  said  to  the  secretary,  glancing  at  the  letter 
again : 

"DEAR  GILBERT, 

"  Dorothea  writes  me  you  have  fallen  in  love. 
Very  proper,  I'm  sure.  I  did  the  same  thing  myself 
at  your  age ;  she  didn't  dance,  she  sang.  It  is  a 
much  quicker  cure.  However,  I  don't  want  to  inter- 
fere with  you  in  any  way.  I  will  admit  I  don't  care 
for  quite  so  much  publicity  as  your  cousin  implies, 
but  I  presume  she  has  become  acquainted  with  your 
movements  by  accident  ?  I  know  I  can  trust  you  to 
do  the  right  thing.  And,  by  the  way,  if  my  memory 
serves  me,  it  is  rather  an  expensive  game  you  are 
learning.  I  hope  the  enclosed  may  be  of  service  to 
you.  Be  discreet,  and,  if  I  may  advise  you,  avoid 
anything  in  the  nature  of  a  permanent  tie.  Verb  sap. 
I  suppose  you  will  come  out  to  us  presently.  Your 
mother  seems  much  improved  in  health.  I've  not  told 
her  of  Dorothea's  letter,  but  you  might  write  her 
yourself,  announcing  a  visit,  if  a  visit  be  agreeable  to 
you.  .  .  ." 

Lord  Fortive  was  a  diplomat,  a  man  of  the  world, 
attached  to  his  son,  although  he  was  also  his  heir,  and 
grateful  to  him  for  his  decent  record.  Other  fathers  of 

295 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

his  acquaintance  had  trouble  with  their  sons.  He  had 
had  no  trouble.  He  even  boasted  about  it,  putting  it  to  his 
own  credit : 

"I've  always  treated  my  son  on  a  rational  principle, 
encouraging  him  to  look  upon  me  as  his  friend  and  equal. 
I  don't  issue  orders,  I  discuss  circumstances.  Gilbert  has 
been  brought  up  to  think  for  himself,  to  realize  that  I  am 
at  his  service  if  he  requires  guidance ;  but  mainly  to  think 
and  act  for  himself." 

But  Lady  Fortive  knew  that  boys  do  not  confide  every- 
thing even  to  the  most  rational  of  fathers.  Hence  her  oc- 
casional anxieties  and  her  early  appeal  to  Colonel  Fellowes. 

The  immediate  effect  of  his  father's  letter  was  a  most 
explosive  interview  between  Dorothea  and  her  cousin. 
Lord  Fortive  could  never  have  conceived  Gilbert  being 
guilty  of  such  a  misprision  of  confidence,  or  he  would 
not  have  written  him  so  openly.  But  then  Lord  Fortive 
was  cautious,  Kiddie  frank;  Lord  Fortive  a  diplomat, 
Gilbert  —  a  boy. 

"  I  think  it  is  a  dirty  trick,  neither  more,  nor  less,"  Kiddie 
reproached  her  hotly.  He  had  not  given  himself  time  to 
think,  he  was  at  Curzon  Street  before  Dorothea  was  up.  At 
his  urgent  message  she  came  down  in  her  peignoir  to  meet 
his  reproaches.  The  white  tea-gown,  embroidered  in  a  gold- 
key  pattern,  became  her  as  well  as  any  of  her  more  elabo- 
rate dresses.  Her  coiffure  was  perfection. 

"  What  have  I  done  now  ?  What's  a  dirty  trick  ? 
Really,  Kiddie,  you  have  the  strangest  way  of  saying  good 
morning.  And  I  was  going  to  invite  you  to  breakfast 
with  me.  Don't  tornade,  now  please  don't  tornade.  .  .  ." 
She  liked  the  new  word,  and  repeated  it.  "  What  has 
happened  ?  What  does  the  diplomat  write  ?  " 

"I  say  again,  it's  a  dirty  trick.  What  did  you  write 
to  my  father  for  ?  How  dared  you  interfere  with  me  ? 

296 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

It's  a  silly,  womanish,  spiteful  thing  to  do.  I  didn't  think 
you  capable  of  it." 

"  Now,  Kiddie,  it's  time  you  talked  sense,  instead  of 
standing  there  glowering  at  me,  abusing  me  as  if  I  were  a 
pickpocket.  All  London  is  gossiping  about  you  and  Miss 
Mainwaring.  In  a  gossiping  letter  I  mentioned  what  all  the 
world  knows.  .  .  ." 

"  My  father  writes  you  are  anxious  about  me !  Now,  what 
do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  But  unconsciously  the  Greek  tea- 
gown  was  mollifying  him. 

"  I  am  anxious  about  you." 

"  Oh,  damn  it,  .  .  . !  " 

"  That  is  simply  rude.  How  can  I  help  it  ?  I'm  very 
fond  of  you,  Kiddie." 

Kiddie  did  not  want  to  be  softened.  Still,  when  a  woman, 
a  beautiful  one,  one  with  whom  he  has  had  passages,  tells  a 
young  man  she  is  fond  of  him,  it  is  difficult  to  abuse  her 
for  it. 

"I've  always  been  fond  of  you.  And  I  can't  let  you 
go  on  with  this  without  trying  to  prevent  it  getting  serious. 
Everybody  is  talking,  they  say  you  are  going  to  marry 
her ! " 

"Rot!" 

"  But  you  told  me  so  yourself  two  or  three  days  ago." 

"  You  goaded  me  into  saying  it." 

"But  isn't  it  true?" 

"I  don't  know.  Oh,  damn  it;  don't  cross-examine  a 
fellow." 

"  I  see  you've  already  adopted  the  manners  of  the  lower 
orders." 

"  Dolly !  " 

He  came  up  to  her,  he  even  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"  Don't  nag  me,  Dolly.  I  came  round  to  have  a  row  with 
you,  but  I  don't  want  to.  I'm  half  beside  myself.  I  don't 

297 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

know  what  I'm  saying.  I  am  in  love  with  her  ;  what's  the 
good  of  denying  it  ?  She  .  .  .  she  won't  have  anything  to 
do  with  me.  .  .  ." 

This  was  not  the  exact  truth.  But  Sally's  Monday  de- 
meanour had  very  definitely  reflected  her  Sunday  decision. 
She  had  come  into  something  of  her  woman's  kingdom,  she 
knew  she  would  not  be  Kiddie's  mistress.  She  wanted  to 
go  on  being  friends  with  him.  She  had  not  taken  sufficient 
possession  of  that  kingdom  to  realize  the  impossibility  of 
what  she  proposed.  Other  girls  on  the  musical  comedy 
stage  had  "  friends." 

But  Kiddie  was  all  on  fire  with  her ;  his  days  and  nights 
were  full  of  nothing  else.  He  thought  he  had  seen  an  end 
to  his  trouble,  but  now  there  was  to  be  no  end. 

It  is  difficult  to  get  at  Lady  Dorothea's  motive.  Perhaps 
she  wanted  to  secure  Kiddie's  gratitude.  She  had  no  opin- 
ion of  virtue  as  a  quality.  To  her  it  was  merely  an  idiosyn- 
crasy, rather  rare,  and  not  admirable.  Kiddie  quite  broke 
down  before  her.  He  was  leading  an  impossible  life,  and 
it  was  telling  on  his  health  and  nerves.  A  thought  slowly 
dawned  on  her,  the  germ  of  one  at  least.  She  hesitated,  the 
thing  did  not  come  to  her  all  at  once. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  do  any  good  if  Lord  Fortive  were 
to  meet  her  ?  "  she  said  slowly,  to  gain  time.  She  had  an 
idea,  but  it  would  not  materialize.  There  must  be  some  way 
of  giving  Kiddie  what  he  wanted.  Poor  Kiddie ! 

"  Do  you  mean  would  he  consent  to  my  marrying  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  would  he  consider  it  at  all  ?  " 

"  He's  the  soul  of  pride,"  said  Kiddie  disconsolately. 

"  But  she  is  rather  attractive." 

"You  mean  he  might  take  a  fancy  to  her  ?  " 

"  You  know  he  is  not  generally  considered  to  be  quite 
adamant." 

"  I  know  he  is  the  best  father  a  fellow  ever  had." 

298 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Well,  would  you  like  to  try  the  experiment  of  an  in- 
troduction ?  " 

"  I'm  desperate.  I'd  try  anything.  What  have  you  got 
in  your  mind  ?  " 

"Well!     Be  a  good  boy.  .  .  ." 

Kiddie  laughed  at  that,  but  it  wasn't  a  pleasant  laugh : 

"  I'll  pay  anything  you  like,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 
It  was  a  formula  to  which  she  had  used  him. 

"As  it  happens,  that  is  not  what  I  mean." 

The  idea  suddenly  materialized  and  became  a  brilliant  in- 
spiration. He  should  have  what  he  wanted,  she  would  be 
the  goddess  in  the  car.  He  would  be  grateful  to  her.  And, 
later  on,  a  good  many  tradespeople  would  be  grateful  to 
him.  Lady  Dorothea  was  nothing  if  not  practical. 

"I'm  sick  of  Curzon  Street,  Kiddie,  I  want  a  change. 
Now  what  would  you  do  for  me  if  I  took  her  over  to 
Monte  with  me  and  introduced  her  to  them  as  if  she  were 
my  bosom  friend?  I  can't  go  alone,  .  .  .  what  a  young 
brute  you  are,  Kiddie." 

For  Kiddie  had  kissed  her  enthusiastically;  she  liked 
that  sort  of  thing  done  gently,  with  premeditation,  her  pre- 
meditation, and  when  she  was  in  the  mood.  Kiddie  did  not 
heed  her  remonstrance. 

"  You  wouldn't  do  it,  Dolly ;  you  wouldn't  do  it,  would 
you?  You  are  a  ripper.  I  wish  I'd  been  better  to  you. 
It's  a  grand  scheme,  magnificent.  You  won't  tell  them 
anything  about  her.  You'll  let  them  get  to  know  her.  Oh, 
Dolly ! " 

"  Mind  you,  it's  not  going  to  be  a  cheap  piece  of 
foolery.  ..." 

"  I've  got  plenty  of  money ;  the  governor  sent  me  five 
hundred  pounds  this  morning." 

"  I  want  clothes,  and  she'll  want  clothes." 

«  Oh,  that's  nothing." 

299 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  And  how  about  her  engagement  at  the  theatre  ?  " 

"  I  can  get  that  through  all  right." 

There  were  no  obstacles  which,  in  Kiddie's  opinion, 
could  not  be  easily  overcome.  He  had  never  asked  Sarita 
Mainwaring  to  marry  him.  But  he  knew  that  life  was 
flavourless  to  him  without  her.  He  had  sincerely  at  heart 
the  feelings  of  his  father  and  his  mother,  the  honour  of  his 
name,  and  the  guarding  of  his  position.  He  would  let  his 
parents  see  Sally,  and  judge  her.  Love  blinded  him  to  her 
little  lapses  from  the  conventional,  and  she  was  always 
improving.  Love  blinded  him  to  everything  but  what 
love  makes  clear,  her  loyalty  and  simplicity,  her  fine 
courage  and  capacity.  He  saw  quite  well  the  strength 
with  which  she  was  resisting  him.  And  now  he  knew,  or 
almost  knew,  what  before  he  had  doubted,  and  doubted 
correctly.  She  was  not  indifferent  to  him,  he  was  not 
only  an  acquaintance  to  her.  Her  eyes  told  him  this 
sometimes,  and  her  quick  breathing;  she  was  no  longer 
a  child,  nor  was  she  cold.  However  feebly  his  love  had 
been  rooted  four  weeks  ago,  now  it  had  put  out  tendrils 
which  held  securely,  it  was  supported  by  the  sturdy  staff 
of  his  respect,  and  it  flowered. 

•  Dolly's  proposal  carried  him  off  .his  feet,  the  flood  of 
opportunity  it  presented  drowned  his  common  sense.  He 
saw  himself  escorting  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham  with  a 
companion  upon  whom  no  one  would  look  askance;  he 
pictured  Sally  sitting  by  his  invalid  mother's  chair.  How 
quickly  his  mother  would  guess !  And  Sally's  charm, 
surely  her  extraordinary  charm,  would  soften  and  conquer 
his  father.  They  need  not  know  for  a  long  time  who 
Sarita  was,  or  that  she  had  been  on  the  stage.  Meanwhile 
Dolly  would  think  of  some  evasive  explanation.  At 
twenty-two  the  gates  of  Utopia  are  easily  unlocked,  and 
youth  is  prone  to  react.  Quite  long  enough  Kiddie  had 

300 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

been  depressed,  uncertain,  ill  at  cose.  Now  his  spirits 
mounted  sky  high. 

They  carried  him  through  the  next  few  days;  extra- 
ordinary days  they  were.  Edgar  and  Tom  said  he  would 
ruin  "In  Far  Cathay."  Kiddie  was  ready  to  pay  for 
rebuilding  the  ruin.  Sarita  said  she  was  not  going  to 
leave  the  Verandah,  even  for  a  fortnight.  She  was  in 
debt,  and  would  not  involve  herself  further  by  ordering 
more  clothes.  But  she  was  secretly  enamoured  of  the  idea. 
The  prospect  of  change  and  novelty,  of  being  with  Kiddie 
and  Lady  Dorothea  Lytham,  set  her  eyes  dancing.  Lady 
Dorothea  Lytham  had  never  lost  her  fascination  since  that 
visit  to  the  hospital.  Yet  Sally  demurred,  denied,  refused, 
until  Kiddie  was  driven  to  bring  Dorothea  to  her. 

Dorothea  came,  bringing  with  her  the  subtle  odour  of 
Bond  Street  and  authority. 

"  Kiddie  tells  me  you  won't  go  to  Monte  Carlo  with  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  milady,"  she  protested  in  an  agony  of  distress, 
lest  she  should  have  denied  anything  to  this  beautiful  lady, 
or  appeared  ungracious  to  her ;  "  only  I  didn't  think  — 
I  couldn't  believe  that  your  ladyship  meant  it." 

"Not  so  much  of  'your  ladyship,'  please.  You  are 
coming  as  my  companion,  not  as  my  maid.  Has  Kiddie 
told  you  the  scheme  ?  " 

Kiddie  had  told  her  nothing.  The  word  "marriage" 
had  not  been  mentioned  between  them,  nor  had  they  dis- 
cussed his  parents'  inevitable  way  of  regarding  such  a  union. 
Sally  was  proud,  and  Kiddie  knew  the  quality  of  her  pride. 
She  would  not  go  to  Monte  Carlo  if  she  realized  she  was  to  go 
there  "  on  appro,"  as  it  were,  as  so  many  of  the  goods  were 
sent  out  from  the  emporium  in  Brook  Street.  They  came 
back  so  often  damaged,  worse  than  shop-worn,  unsaleable. 
She  would  not  have  consented  to  go  on  such  conditions.  By 
a  gesture  Kiddie  restrained  Lady  Dorothea  from  expatiating 

301 


THE    HEART   OF    A    CHILD 

on  their  conspiracy.  For  it  was  in  the  nature  of  a  conspiracy, 
although  far  from  being  the  one  that  Kiddie  imagined. 

Sarita's  opposition  overcome,  there  remained  only  the 
consultation  with  Mr.  Perry.  It  was  Lady  Dorothea's 
advice  that  Sally  should  buy  clothes  in  Paris.  They 
meant  to  break  the  journey  at  Paris,  and  two  or  three 
days'  shopping  there  would  be  a  revelation  to  Sarita,  an 
education  in  itself,  she  said.  Lady  Dorothea  had  curious 
limitations.  She  had  never  been  jealous  of  any  woman, 
nor  petty  in  her  relations  with  them.  As  she  herself 
said,  she  had  only  one  vice  ...  of  course,  she  was  entirely 
blind  to  what  it  included.  Up  to  the  present  it  had 
not  included  jealousy.  But  now  she  insisted  that  Sally 
should  buy  her  clothes  in  Paris,  because  she  could  not  bear 
that  Mr.  Perry  should  use  his  incomparable  skill  for  any 
other  than  herself !  And  in  London  there  was  no  one  but 
Mr.  Perry. 

Mr.  Perry  had  no  idea  that  Miss  Mainwaring  was  leaving 
the  stage  and  going  abroad,  chaperoned  by  Lady  Dorothea 
Lytham.  It  was  enough  for  him  that  Lady  Dorothea  was 
going,  he  knew  she  would  do  justice  to  his  models.  She 
gave  him  but  little  time,  but  he  employed  it  well.  Kiddie 
was  going  to  pay.  On  some  pretext  or  another  Kiddie 
was  taken  more  than  once  to  Brook  Street.  More  than 
once  Lady  Dorothea  reminded  them  that  "Lord  Kidder- 
minster was  going  to  pay."  They  had  no  doubt  of  the 
fact. 

Kiddie  was  quite  indifferent  to  her  extravagances.  Sarita 
would  accept  nothing  from  him,  not  a  bow,  not  a  ribbon. 
She  had  returned  him  the  diamond  brooch  he  had  given  her 
long  ago;  it  was  the  only  piece  of  jewellery  he  had  ever 
offered,  and  it  was  subsequent  to  Colonel  Fellowes'  gift. 
She  still  wore  Colonel  Fellowes'  chain.  Taking  a  present 
from  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father  seemed  to  her  very 

302 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

different  from  accepting  one  from  Kiddie,  after  that  talk 
with  Miss  Rugeley. 

She  was  very  proud.  She  would  go  abroad  with  Lady 
Dorothea  Lytham,  since  Lady  Dorothea  was  good  enough  to 
ask  her,  but  she  would  pay  her  own  expenses.  She  had 
only  one  debt  on  her  conscience,  the  one  already  contracted 
to  the  Brook  Street  establishment,  arid  this  was  always 
worrying  her.  She  would  not  have  added  to  it,  even  if 
Lady  Dorothea  had  willed  it;  neither  did  she  mean  to 
buy  anything  in  Paris.  But  she  drew  her  large  salary  a 
fortnight  in  advance,  and  she  went  away  out  of  debt. 

Kiddie  hit  on  a  good  scheme ;  he  asked  her  to  let  him 
have  five  pounds  of  her  money  to  put  on  a  horse.  He 
forgot  to  tell  her  the  name  of  the  horse  until  the  next 
day,  when  her  five  pounds  had  turned  to  fifty.  She  could 
hardly  believe  it,  hardly  be  induced  to  accept  the  money, 
until  he  showed  her  the  paper.  Clarion  had  won,  it  had 
started  at  ten  to  one.  She  thought  it  very  clever  indeed 
of  Kiddie  to  have  picked  out  the  winner.  She  could  not 
be  expected  to  know  that  he  had  only  picked  it  out  after 
the  event. 

At  the  theatre  the  secret  of  her  departure  was  to  be 
kept  to  the  last.  The  end  of  the  pantomime  season  would 
release  a  principal  boy  or  girl,  whom  the  fickle  public  would 
accept  until  Sally's  return.  The  new  engagement  might 
not  keep  the  theatre  full,  but  that  was  Kidderminster's 
affair.  It  would  at  least  keep  it  open,  and  that  Avas  every- 
body's. Tom  and  Edgar  quite  expected  Miss  Mainwaring's 
return.  Lord  Kidderminster  would  not  want  to  keep 
her  altogether  off  the  boards.  He  would  have  other  occupa- 
tions, other  obligations.  There  was  no  thought  of  mar- 
riage ;  if  there  was  to  have  been  a  marriage,  it  would  have 
been  announced.  All  they  were  told  was  that  Miss  Sarita 
Mainwaring  was  going  to  "  take  a  rest." 

303 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Colonel  Fellowes  was  perhaps  the  most  puzzled  party 
in  the  whole  quickly  moving  drama.  Dorothea  begged 
him  neither  to  inquire  nor  interfere.  Of  course  he  would 
have  interfered.  Dorothea  habitually  used  him  for  her 
purposes,  but  he  always  had  her  measure.  As  far  as  their 
personal  relations  were  concerned,  he  had  the  mastery  of 
the  position,  because  he  retained  the  mastery  of  himself. 
He  cared  for  her  exactly  as  much  as  she  deserved,  and  for 
the  same  reason. 

But  he  had  no  idea  what  purpose  she  had  in  her  mind 
in  taking  Miss  Mainwaring  to  Monte  Carlo,  and  he  was 
ordered  not  to  inquire. 

"If  it  be  with  any  idea  of  reconciling  the  Fortives  to 
Kiddie  marrying  her,  it  is  too  preposterous  a  scheme  even 
for  you  to  have  conceived,"  he  said,  stumbling  by  accident 
on  what  she  had  promised  Kiddie. 

"I  told  you  not  to  inquire.  Do  I  ever  do  anything 
foolish?" 

"  Often." 

"  I  know.  But  I  mean  desperately  foolish,  like  other 
people?" 

"Never.  I'll  do  you  full  justice  there;  you  never  do 
anything  like  other  people." 

"  Well,  be  sure  then,  I'm  not  doing  it  now.  I  like  Kiddie, 
I  don't  see  why  he  shouldn't  have  what  he  wants.  And 
you  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged  to  me  for  taking  you 
with  us,  you  know  you  are  yearning  for  the  South." 

"Well,  yes,  perhaps.  But  I'm  not  yearning  for  Paris, 
with  Kiddie,  you,  and  the  chorus  girl  in  a  quartette  party. 
It's  altogether  odd,  and  out  of  my  line." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  me  to  go  alone  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  at  all  sure  I  shan't  leave  you  to  do  Paris  by 
yourself.  I've  half  a  mind  to  go  straight  through  and  wait 
for  you  at  Nice." 

3«>4 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Dorothea  laughed. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  Paris,"  she  finished  oracularly. 
"  I  know  what  I'm  about.  Kiddie  is  going  to  get  a  sur« 
prise.  .  .  ." 


CHAPTEE  XIX 

KIDDIE'S  surprise  came  about  in  this  way. 
They  met  at  Victoria  Station  about  ten  minutes  be- 
fore the  train  went.  Sally's  instinctive  good  taste,  although, 
without  Mr.  Perry  as  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,  it  did 
not  reach  Lady  Dorothea's  smartness,  taught  her  how  to 
dress  for  this  newest  and  strangest  of  her  experiences. 
Her  travelling  coat  was  dark  blue,  with  a  gold-braided 
military  collar,  her  small  hat  would  defy  the  breeze  in  the 
Channel,  and  her  veil  would  keep  it  secure.  She  had  a 
dressing-bag ;  Miss  Rugeley  pressed  this  luxury  upon  her. 
It  was  rather  a  poor  affair,  but  it  held  all  she  might  need 
beyond  the  contents  of  her  trunk,  a  cane  one,  light  and 
convenient.  Ursula  had  suggested  coming  to  see  her  off ; 
but  Sally  reminded  her  of  a  possible  fog,  and  the  difficulties 
of  getting  back  to  Bayswater.  Ursula  had  spent  the 
whole  morning  with  Sally,  arriving  at  eight,  helping  her 
to  pack,  bringing  her  own  limited  experience  of  foreign 
travel  to  bear  on  the  other's  ignorance.  The  sea-sickness 
was  a  foregone  conclusion,  and  everything  was  arranged 
for  it.  There  were  two  guaranteed  cures,  and  a  bottle  of 
eau-de-Cologne,  smelling  salts,  and  a  small  flask  of  brandy. 
Sally  was  quite  sure  she  was  not  going  to  be  sick,  but 
appreciated  all  the  directions,  and  the  fuss  that  was  being 
made  about  her. 

Sally  was  a  little  in  awe  of  Lady  Dorothea,  but  Kiddie 
met  her  at  the  entrance  to  the  station.  His  man  was  there 
to  look  after  the  luggage,  he  told  her. 

306 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

"You  are  very  late.     I've  been  here  since  half-past  ten." 

"  I  couldn't  get  away.  There  was  so  much  to  do.  Miss 
Rugeley  has  been  with  me  all  the  morning,  helping  me  to 
pack." 

"  Dolly  is  here,  and  the  Colonel.  I  say,  is  that  thing  warm 
enough  ?  " 

"  My  coat  ?  Oh,  yes,  and  I've  got  a  woollen  jersey  under- 
neath." 

Kiddie  had  his  man,  and  Dolly  her  maid.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  for  the  two  ladies  to  take  their  seats, 
and  be  supplied  with  hot  water  tins,  and  books,  periodicals, 
and  newspapers.  They  had  the  compartment  to  themselves, 
reserved  to  Dover.  It  was  very  different  from  that  third- 
class  trip  to  Brighton  with  Elfrida ;  Sally's  eyes  sparkled 
with  the  pleasure  of  it.  She  was  very  silent,  looking  out  of 
the  window  most  of  the  way.  Colonel  Fellowes  tried  to 
talk  to  her,  and  Lady  Dorothea  was  very  kind.  She  told 
her  all  about  Mr.  Perry's  clothes. 

"  He  is  coming  out  himself  in  a  week  or  two.  I  believe 
he  gets  half  his  ideas  abroad.  He  never  misses  Monte,  nor 
the  Paris  races,  nor  Trouville.  He  goes  everywhere  that 
well-dressed  people  go,  picking  up  a  notion  here,  a  notion 
there.  He  always  claims  them  as  his  own,  but  one  recog- 
nizes Doucet,  Paquin,  Beer,  Worth." 

Sally's  loyalty  loosed  her  tongue : 

"  He  never  uses  a  model  as  he  buys  it ;  and  he  makes  lots 
of  things  himself,  bodices,  even  whole  dresses.  I've  seen 
him  doing  it  on  the  stands." 

"  How  fearfully  interesting !  Aren't  you  sorry  you  ever 
left  the  shop  ?  "  Dolly  asked,  a  little  maliciously  perhaps. 

"I  don't  know  ...  he  was  often  not  there,"  she  an- 
swered, a  little  doubtfully,  conscious,  although  not  resent- 
ful, of  the  note  of  contempt.  Sometimes  she  had  felt  sorry 
that  she  had  ever  left  Brook  Street.  It  was  true  there  was 

307 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

much  about  the  theatre  that  she  did  not  like.  And  every 
day,  as  she  understood  them  more  clearly,  she  had  liked  some 
things  less. 

"  But  surely  you  like  dancing  better  than  being  in  a  shop ! " 
Colonel  Fellowes  interposed. 

"  I  was  very  happy  in  Brook  Street.  I  thought  it  very 
good  of  her  ladyship,  and  him  too,"  colouring,  and  including 
Kiddie  in  her  grateful  glance,  "  to  help  me  to  go  there." 

Dolly  would  have  liked  to  draw  her  out  on  the  subject  of 
life  on  the  musical  comedy  stage,  its  temptations,  its  sparkle, 
and  allurements.  She  would  not  have  been  averse  to  hear- 
ing of  the  young  ladies  who  had  broughams,  and  motors,  and 
learning  who  was  supposed  to  pay  for  them.  But  Sally  did 
not  tell  tales  out  of  school.  Besides,  she  knew  but  little, 
she  had  not  grown  into  real  intimacy  with  any  of  the  girls 
at  the  Verandah.  She  had  had  the  exceptional  advantage 
of  a  dressing-room  to  herself,  which,  at  first,  entailed  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  unpopularity. 

Failing  to  draw  her  out,  Lady  Dorothea  relapsed  from  her 
attentions  and  devoted  herself  to  cigarettes,  periodicals,  and 
the  talk  of  the  two  men.  It  was  chiefly  of  racing.  Kiddie 
said  he  should  stay  in  Paris  over  Sunday  and  take  them  to 
Longchamps.  How  could  he  realize  the  meaning  of  Dolly's 
laugh  ?  Sally  went  on  looking  out  of  the  window. 

They  arrived  at  Dover  punctually.  Sally  liked  the  har- 
bour, and  the  smell  of  the  sea  that  came  refreshingly  to  her. 
She  liked  to  see  the  porters  with  the  luggage,  and  the  big 
boat  waiting  for  them. 

It  was  going  to  be  a  rough  passage,  even  in  the  harbour, 
the  wind  churned  up  the  waves,  and  the  foam  marked  their 
crests.  The  others  were  experienced  travellers.  They  ar- 
ranged their  seats  on  the  lee  side,  took  advantage  of  the 
shelter  of  the  cabin-tops,  and  did  not  contemplate  being  in- 
convenienced by  the  weather.  Sally  sat  down  with  them, 

308 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

but  the  screw  had  hardly  made  a  dozen  revolutions,  they 
had  barely  left  the  harbour,  before  she  turned  to  Kiddie,  in- 
stinctively, for  protection.  She  felt  frightened  and  ill. 

"  Good  heavens !  She's  going  to  be  sea-sick.  How  dis- 
gusting !  I  thought  it  was  only  the  maids  who  were  sea- 
sick," Dorothea  said  to  Colonel  Fellowes. 

Sally  heard,  but  did  not  care.  There  was  another  roll  of 
the  vessel  .  .  . 

Kiddie  found  an  unoccupied  cabin  for  her,  and  fetched  a 
stewardess. 

"  She  is  not  exactly  one  of  us,  is  she,  Kiddie  ?  "  Dorothea 
said,  a  little  cruelly,  to  him  on  his  return.  "  I'm  afraid  it's 
going  to  be  a  failure." 

The  Colonel  eyed  her  curiously. 

"  You  are  very  unfeeling,"  was  Kiddie's  only  reply.  He 
was  fearfully  sorry  for  Sally,  and  concerned  about  her.  For 
himself  he  rather  liked  the  motion  of  the  vessel,  the  dark- 
ness of  the  sky,  the  roar  of  elements  that  drowned  the  throb 
of  the  machinery. 

"You  didn't  expect  she  would  turn  out  an  experienced 
yachtsman  because  she  wore  a  blue  coat  ?  "  said  Fellowes. 

"I  loathe  people  who  are  ill,"  answered  Dorothea.  "I 
can't  help  it,  it's  one  of  my  idiosyncrasies.  I  thought  I 
liked  her,  but  since  I've  seen  her  like  that,  I  can't  even  think 
about  her.  Keep  her  out  of  my  way,  do,  there's  a  good  boy, 
Kiddie.  She  seems  horrible  to  me.  ...  I  can't  help  it." 

There  was  no  arguing  with  Lady  Dorothea  in  this  mood. 
Kiddie  did  as  he  was  told.  Sally  remained  in  the  cabin 
until  they  were  at  Calais.  Then  he  fetched  her,  and  was 
struck  with  her  pallor.  It  was  very  natural.  Sally  was 
not  worse  than  a  great  many  other  passengers  had  been. 
But  then  Lord  Kidderminster  had  no  glance  to  spare  for  the 
others.  Colonel  Fellowes  had  taken  Lady  Dorothea  to  get 
lunch,  but  Sally  could  not  yet  face  food  j  she  looked  in  at 

309 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

the  restaurant,  because  Kiddie  urged  her,  but  the  look  and 
smell  of  the  place  were  as  yet  too  much  for  her.  Kiddie 
walked  with  her  to  the  train,  and  returned  to  get  something 
to  eat ;  he  had  his  usual  healthy  appetite. 

"Is  she  better  now?"  Dorothea  said.  "You  mustn't 
mind,  Kiddie,  but  I  shall  have  to  travel  in  another  carriage. 
I  know  she'll  be  ill  all  the  way,  Marie  is,  generally.  She'll 
have  a  frightful  headache  and  moan,  and  make  no  end  of  a 
fuss.  Freddie  will  come  with  me,  you  go  with  her,  if  you 
can  stand  it." 

"  I  don't  call  it  great  heroism  to  look  after  a  girl  who  has 
been  upset  by  one  of  the  worst  passages  we've  ever  experi- 
enced. I  swear,  I  sometimes  wonder  if  you  are  a  woman  at 
all,"  Kiddie  said  indignantly,  with  his  mouth  full,  bolting 
his  food  in  order  to  get  back  to  Sally  quickly. 

"  I'm  not  a  sick  nurse,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  You  run 
away  and  bathe  her  head,"  she  mocked.  "Freddie  will 
look  after  me.  Ta-ta,  until  Paris.  The  Bristol,  you  know, 
not  the  Ritz,"  she  called  after  him,  as  he  rushed  off.  He 
got  a  small  luncheon-basket  packed,  and  secured  some  cold 
chicken,  a  bottle  of  claret,  some  grapes  and  oranges. 

"  You  were  not  very  kind  to  him,"  Colonel  Fellowes  said, 
a  little  curiously.  "  Since  when  has  an  attack  of  sea-sickness 
affected  you  to  this  extent  of  horror  ?  " 

"  Now,  don't  you  begin  to  scold  me.  Order  me  some  coffee, 
and  see  after  Marie,  will  you  ?  " 

Marie  had  had  her  instructions.  She  was  a  little  difficult 
to  find,  but  was  run  to  earth  at  last.  The  platform  was 
swept  by  wind  and  rain.  On  either  side  of  it  stood  the  high, 
grey  trains.  It  was  difficult  to  hear  oneself  speak.  Colonel 
Fellowes'  French  was  of  the  public  school  variety.  He  un- 
derstood that  both  trains  were  right,  both  were  going  to 
Paris.  When  Dorothea  joined  him,  having  deliberately 
lingered  over  her  coffee,  waiting  until  porters  were  shout- 

310 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

ing,  engines  whistling,  and  the  last  possible  moment  had 
arrived,  he  was  still  searching  for  Kiddie,  looking  up  and 
down  the  platform,  into  both  trains.  But  she  caught  him 
in  time : 

"  On  the  left ;  why  don't  you  get  in  ?  "  she  called  out. 

"I  was  just  coming  back  to  fetch  you,"  he  said.  "I 
can't  see  where  the  others  are.  Marie  said  she  was  all 
right.  She  did  not  want  any  help." 

Dorothea  got  in ;  her  seat  had  been  reserved.  When  she 
was  there  to  help  him,  even  Colonel  Fellowes  was  able  to 
find  it. 

After  rapidly  exchanging  a  few  words  with  the  pallid 
Marie,  who  was  waiting  with  her  cushion  and  elaborate 
dressing-bag,  Lady  Dorothea  settled  herself  comfortably. 
"  Now  I'm  going  to  have  a  nap,"  she  said.  "  Don't  wake 
me  on  any  account  until  we  get  to  Amiens." 

The  Colonel  wandered  up  and  down  the  corridor  car- 
riages before  they  started,  and  even  after.  One  was  a 
restaurant  car,  the  others  were  mostly  sleeping  cars.  He 
began  to  be  vaguely  uneasy.  But,  when  they  were  really 
in  motion,  he  too  relapsed  into  sleepy  silence,  with  his 
cigarette. 

He  got  Dorothea  a  cup  of  tea  at  Amiens.  He  also  made 
use  of  the  short  wait  to  make  a  more  thorough  search  of 
the  train.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  trick  that  had  been 
played  until  he  came  back  to  Dolly. 

"  They  are  not  in  the  train  at  all.  I've  looked  through 
every  carriage ! " 

"I  never  supposed  they  were,"  she  said.  She  handed 
him  back  her  cup,  through  the  window.  "  What  filthy  tea, 
isn't  it  ?  Don't  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

He  was  thunderstruck,  he  looked  at  her;  her  face  was 
quite  calm,  although  she  had  not  liked  the  tea.  He  paid 
for  the  tea,  and  mounted  the  train  again.  He  was  really 

311 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

speechless ;  the  audacity  of  the  trick,  the  way  it  had  been 
carried  out,  and  his  own  blindness,  all  struck  him  at 
once. 

The  train  bumped  and  whistled  its  way  out  of  Amiens 
station. 

"  Well,  now,  please,  you  had  better  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it,"  he  said.  "  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  What  has 
become  of  Kiddie,  where  is  Miss  Mainwaring  ?  " 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  not  to  worry  about  Paris." 

"  What  devil's  trick  have  you  been  up  to  ?  " 

"No  devil's  trick  at  all.  Kiddie  wanted  to  go  to  Paris. 
I  didn't.  I  wanted  to  go  to  Monte  Carlo,  voild,  tout.  This 
is  the  train  de  luxe,  it  sweeps  round  Paris.  We  have  not 
to  change  at  all.  I've  got  two  sleeping  berths." 

"  Did  .  .  .  did  Kiddie  know  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  He  will  be  very  much  obliged  to  me.  They  will  really 
be  much  more  comfortable  by  themselves.  You  saw  how 
impossible  she  was." 

"  You  meant  it  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  Don't  you  think  it  rather  clever  ?  Kiddie 
had  got  into  a  sort  of  high  falutin',  rarefied  air ;  he'd  fallen 
in  love  with  the  little  guttersnipe.  .  .  ." 

"Well!"  The  Colonel  drew  a  long  breath.  The  sen- 
tence that  rose  to  his  mind  was,  "I've  seen  some  bad 
women  in  my  time,  but  without  any  doubt  you  take  the 
cake."  Yet  what  was  the  good  of  saying  it  ?  Dolly  was 
pluming  herself,  smiling,  she  expected  to  be  praised  for  her 
cleverness. 

"  You've  played  for  this  all  the  time  ?  " 

"All  the  time." 

"That  Kiddie  and  she  should  arrive  in  Paris  together, 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  .  .  .  ?  " 

"With  their  rooms  taken  at  the  Bristol,  for  'Monsieur 

312 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

and  Madame/  "  she  laughed.  "  Wasn't  it  a  good  scheme  ? 
Kiddie  will  be  awfully  grateful,  you  see  if  he  isn't." 

"  You  mean  .  .  ." 

"  Don't  be  a  big  booby.  She  had  been  playing  with  him, 
putting  him  off  on  one  pretext  or  another,  scheming  to  be 
Lady  Kidderminster.  I  have  played  guardian  angel  to  the 
family ;  the  Fortives  ought  to  give  me  a  pension.  I'm  sure 
I  could  do  with  one." 

"But  when  Kiddie  discovers  the  trick  that  has  been 
played  him  .  .  ." 

"Kiddie  does  not  get  to  Paris  until  we  have  left  it. 
That  is  a  slow  train  he  is  in.  Oh !  I  worked  it  all  out." 

The  Colonel  lit  another  cigarette;  his  hands  were  not 
quite  steady.  Dorothea  had  pretended  to  take  this  girl 
under  her  protection;  she  had  swept  her  away  from  the 
safeguard  of  her  work  and  place,  she  had  thrown  her  into 
the  arms  of  the  man  who  was  in  love  with  her,  with  whom 
she  was,  perhaps,  in  love. 

"Have  you  got  a  conscience  at  all?"  he  said  aloud, 
"  that  is  what  I  wonder.  Are  you  not  a  little  bit  ashamed 
of  what  you  are  doing?  Come,  tell  me  that.  After  all, 
you  have  been  a  girl  yourself." 

"She  will  have  a  lovely  time  with  Kiddie  in  Paris. 
And,  when  they  are  tired  of  each  other,  he  can  either  buy 
her  a  house  in  St.  John's  Wood,  or  take  a  better  flat  in 
Victoria;  the  one  she  had  was  a  miserable  affair." 

"But  she  was  an  honest  little  girl  .  .  .  virtuous,  hard- 
working." 

"She  can  be  just  as  virtuous  as  Kiddie's  mistress  as 
she  would  have  been  as  Kiddie's  wife.  She  will  have  less 
temptation,  too.  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  she  would 
never  have  got  on,  she  would  never  have  been  received 
anywhere  if  she  had  not  made  friends  with  the  men,  and 
done  the  things  we  all  do.  Look  at  Jenny  Sandys;  she 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

was  on  the  stage,  then  she  went  to  live  with  Lord  Kent. 
They've  got  two  children,  and  she  is  as  virtuous  as  you 
want.  She  has  lost  her  figure ;  I  saw  her  in  a  brougham 
one  day,  horribly  fat  and  respectable  and  bourgeoise.  Kent 
provided  handsomely  for  her.  Well,  now  look  at  Connie 
Raynes,  who  married  Summers.  She  has  got  her  straw- 
berry leaves,  and  lots  of  people  receive  her.  No  one  ever 
got  on  so  well.  And  you  know  why,  the  same  as  I  do.  It's 
because  she  is  clever,  and  gets  round  the  men,  and  stops 
at  nothing.  She  treats  Summers  as  if  he  were  her 
lacquey.  ..." 

She  did  not  persuade  Colonel  Fellowes  that  her  action  had 
been  justifiable,  far  less  philanthropic.  He  contemplated 
getting  out  of  the  train  when  he  arrived  in  Paris,  waiting  for 
Kiddie  and  Sarita  at  the  Bristol.  He  even  threw  out  the 
suggestion  to  Dorothea,  who  received  it  with  ridicule,  and 
made  the  ridicule  realistic  by  describing  a  possible  scene. 
Besides,  she  told  him,  and  there  was  a  certain  amount  of 
truth  in  it,  he  could  not  let  her  travel  through  to  Monte 
Carlo,  taking  the  night  journey  unattended. 

His  conscience  was  not  nearly  as  callous  as  hers.  He 
found  himself  restless  all  through  that  evening,  and  at 
Paris  it  was  almost  by  force  that  Dorothea  restrained  him 
from  leaving  the  train.  It  was  a  "  devil's  trick  "  ;  he  had 
characterized  it  quite  correctly.  If  he  had  not  had,  in  his 
heart,  so  bad  an  opinion  of  women,  holding  their  honour 
and  honesty  in  such  cheap  estimation,  he  might  still  have 
resisted  her.  But  why  should  he  think  Miss  Sarita  Main- 
waring  different  from  all  her  sex  ?  And,  if  she  had  schemed 
to  marry  Kiddie,  she  deserved  that  her  schemes  should  be 
frustrated.  In  which  he  reasoned  weakly,  but  then  he  had 
always  been  weak  in  his  conduct,  only  strong  in  his  profes- 
sion. His  sense  of  honour  was  high  in  all  save  in  his  traffic 
with  women. 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

So  the  train  crawled  its  slow  way  from  the  Terminus  to 
the  Nord,  and  then  started  rattling,  shaking,  shrieking, 
as  if  it  were  driven  to  make  up  for  wasted  time.  After 
a  certain  amount  of  quarrelling  and  recrimination,  a  thing 
the  Colonel  hated,  he  and  Dorothea  became  reconciled,  and 
ate  their  dinner  together  in  the  swaying  restaurant  car,  shar- 
ing a  bottle  of  Pommery,  amicable  in  their  truce. 

And  Lady  Dorothea  slept  well  through  the  night,  not- 
withstanding the  oscillations  of  the  train,  the  shrieking 
engine,  and  many  stoppages,  to  wake  in  the  sunshine  at 
Marseilles  without  even  a  pang  of  regret,  remorse,  or  mis- 
giving. 


3IJ 


CHAPTER  XX 

LOUD  KIDDERMINSTER  and  Miss  Sarita  Main- 
waring,  of  the  Verandah  Theatre,  arrived  in  Paris 
about  ten  minutes  past  eight.  Very  soon  after  leaving 
Calais,  Sarita  found  her  health  and  spirits  reviving;  the 
luncheon-basket,  which  Kiddie's  care  had  provided,  com- 
pleted the  cure.  And  then,  like  the  grateful  child  she  was, 
she  began  to  remember  how  kind  Kiddie  had  been,  and 
how  thoughtful  of  her  comfort.  She  began  to  repay  him 
with  thanks,  by  showing  interest  in  her  surroundings,  and  a 
considerable  accession  of  liveliness.  She  remembered  Lady 
Dorothea's  repugnance  and  disgust  at  her  illness,  and  felt 
secretly  sympathetic,  and  ashamed  of  herself.  But  Kiddie 
had  not  hated  her,  and  was  in  no  way  different  to  her. 

At  Amiens,  Kiddie,  too,  searched  the  train.  He  found 
Barlow,  his  man,  who,  either  stupid  or  misinformed,  ex- 
plained the  situation : 

"The  train  went  in  two  parts,  milord.  Her  ladyship 
got  into  the  other  part,  just  as  it  were  moving,  at  the  last 
moment.  We  got  your  lordship's  luggage  and  Miss  Main- 
waring's  with  us  all  right." 

Kiddie  was  quite  satisfied.  He  did  not  know  the  Paris 
train  went  in  two  parts,  although  now  he  remembered  that 
when  he  showed  his  tickets  he  had  Sarita's,  and  the  Colonel 
had  Dolly's;  the  guard  had  gesticulated  and  vociferated. 
Kiddie  was  no  linguist;  he  had  given  the  man  half  a 
sovereign,  and  leapt  \ip  the  high  step  of  the  motionless, 
half-empty  train,  whither  Sarita  had  preceded  him. 

Barlow's  explanation,  at  Amiens  quite  satisfied  Kiddie. 

316 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

He  would  much  rather  be  alone  with  Sarita  until  they 
got  to  Paris,  for  he  resented  Dorothea's  unkindness. 
Tender  as  he  had  always  been  over  Sarita,  her  weakness, 
helplessness,  illness,  her  clinging  to  him,  and  depending 
on  him,  had  accentuated  his  tenderness  a  thousandfold. 
Kiddie  had  never  taken  care  of  anybody.  But  now  he 
arranged  his  bag  as  a  footstool  for  Sally,  got  out  eau-de- 
Cologne  for  the  headache  which  Dorothea  had  predicted, 
but  about  which  Sarita  made  no  fuss,  procured  tea  for  her, 
made  her  rest  her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and  per- 
suaded himself  that  he  could  look  forward  to  having  her 
always  to  take  care  of.  He  knew  his  feelings  were  different 
from  anything  he  had  ever  felt  before.  He  believed  he 
could  make  his  mother  understand,  whilst  he  was  sure  his 
father  would  not  condemn  him  to  misery.  He  would 
never  give  up  Sarita  —  never. 

To  Sarita,  nevertheless,  it  proved  a  long  journey.  It 
was  all  so  new,  and  the  incidents  of  her  crossing  had  left 
her  strained  and  tired.  She  had  tried  not  to  show  it, 
and  succeeded  to  a  certain  extent,  but  she  was  very  glad 
when  Kiddie  told  her  the  lamps  she  saw  at  long  distances 
were  the  lights  of  Paris,  when  these  grew  closer,  and  more 
numerous,  and  at  last  the  train  stopped. 

It  was  a  long  drive  to  the  Bristol  Hotel.  Lord  Kidder- 
minster was  well  known  there.  The  stout  hall-porter  said, 
in  English,  "  Good  evening,  milord." 

"  Has  Lady  Dorothea  arrived  ?  "  Kiddie  asked,  jumping 
out,  helping  Sarita,  never  doubting  the  answer,  nor  waiting 
for  it.  The  other  train  had  passed  them,  they  were  half  an 
hour  late. 

All  Frenchmen  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life  who  speak  Eng- 
lish speak  with  little  expectation  of  being  spoken  to,  they 
understand  but  little.  Kiddie  repeated  his  inquiry  at  the 
desk: 


THE    HEART    OF   A  CHILD 

"  Her  ladyship  has  not  yet  arrived  ?  " 

The  telegram,  reserving  the  rooms,  had  said  — 

"  Monsieur  et  Madame  arrivent  ce  soir." 

It  was  signed  Kidderminster,  and  they  had  kept  him 
the  suite  on  the  first  floor,  they  did  not  understand  that 
the  party  was  a  larger  one.  Milord  knew  the  rooms  ?  No  ? 
They  would  show  them  to  him.  But  perhaps  it  was  not  for 
milord  that  the  rooms  were  reserved  ? 

Something  dawned  on  Kiddie,  only  a  glimmer,  but  it  made 
him  distrait;  it  made  his  heart  beat,  and  the  little  pulses  in 
his  head  throb. 

He  rejoined  Sarita. 

"Dolly  and  Fellowes  haven't  turned  up  yet,"  he  said. 
"  Come  on  ...  you  will  be  glad  to  get  to  your  rooms." 

They  followed  the  clerk  upstairs  to  the  suite  on  the 
entresol:  the  big  sitting-room,  the  double-bedded  room  be- 
yond it,  the  dressing-  and  bathroom. 

"  They'll  do,  won't  they  ?  "  he  asked  her.  He  could  not 
say  more  before  the  clerk.  "  They  are  all  right  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  are  grand,"  said  Sally,  relapsing  into  a  velvet 
chair.  "  I'm  so  tired.  I'm  glad  we've  got  here  first."  For 
Sally  had  heard  Barlow's  story,  too.  "I'll  be  all  right 
when  I've  washed  my  face  and  done  my  hair.  I  feel  as  if 
it's  months  since  we  started.  Was  it  really  only  this  morn- 
ing?" 

The  clerk  wanted  to  know  if  they  would  dine  upstairs,  if 
he  should  send  the  waiter.  As  yet  Kiddie  only  suspected. 
He  hesitated,  but  Sarita  must  want  her  dinner. 

"  We'll  have  something  up  here,"  he  said  quickly,  and 
gave  the  necessary  order. 

He  had  to  go  with  Sarita  into  the  bedroom,  and  show  her 
where  to  ring  for  the  chambermaid,  and  tell  her  how  to  ask 
for  hot  water. 

"  But  they  all  speak  English  here,"  he  said,  "  that's  why 

318 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

I  come.  You'll  get  your  trunk  in  no  time.  I  must  say 
that  for  Barlow,  he's  very  quick." 

Lord  Kidderminster  lingered  until  the  hot  water  came. 
It  gave  him  an  odd  sense  of  familiarity,  sitting  there  with 
Sarita  in  her  bedroom.  She  was  glad  to  have  him  wait 
with  her.  She  was  feeling  lonely  and  strange ;  yet  not  un- 
easy at  Lady  Dorothea's  non-appearance,  but  glad  rather, 
for  she  was  too  tired  to  enjoy  the  radiance  of  that  most 
radiant  of  ladies. 

The  hot  water  came,  and  still  Kiddie  lingered.  The 
trunk  arrived,  then  he  waited  to  see  it  uncorded.  After 
which  Sarita  turned  him  out,  and  he  went  to  make  his  own 
toilette. 

He  made  a  few  inquiries,  first  of  Barlow,  then  of  the 
clerk  in  the  further  office.  But  the  evening  post  had  come 
in,  and  made  further  inquiries  unnecessary. 

"DEAR  KIDDIE, 

"It's  just  possible  that  I  shall  change  my 
mind  en  route,  and  go  straight  to  Monte ;  so  I'm  send- 
ing this  line  to  meet  you  in  Paris.  You  can  have  a 
very  good  time  in  Paris,  much  better  than  she,  or 
either  of  you,  could  have  in  Monte  Carlo  —  you  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do.  Now,  be  a  good  boy,  enjoy  your- 
self thoroughly,  and  I'll  hear  what  a  good  coz  I've 
been  to  you  in  three  months'  time.  Don't  take  her  off 
the  stage,  that  would  be  really  a  mistake.  I'll  explain 
matters  at  the  Villa,  trust  me  for  that,  I'll  be  ambig- 
uous, and  I'll  announce  you  for  Easter.  You'll  be 
through  the  first  rhapsodies  by  then,  and  able  to 
meet  your  father  and  mother  with  a  properly  brazen 
face.  You'll  be  glad  by  then  you  didn't  make  a  fool 
of  yourself. 

"  Ta-ta,  here's  luck. 

«  DOLLY." 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Kiddie  went  very  slowly  back  to  the  salon.  Sarita 
was  there  already,  much  improved  by  her  ablutions.  She 
looked  very  pretty  in  a  blue  blouse  and  a  short  white  skirt, 
both  home-made.  She  looked  very  young  too,  and  a  little 
pale.  Kiddie's  heart  leapt  toward  her. 

The  t&te-ti-t&te  dinner  was  very  agreeable.  They  had 
had  many  meals  together,  but  none  quite  like  this.  Kiddie 
was  very  quiet,  and  his  appetite  failed  him,  although  he 
got  through  a  bottle  of  champagne.  Sarita  ate  like  a 
young  sparrow-hawk ;  she  said  she  was  ravenous,  and 
proved  it.  She  would  have  preferred  that  the  two  waiters 
had  not  stayed  in  the  room,  for  she  thought  their  presence 
was  making  Kiddie  silent : 

"  Are  you  going  out  after  dinner  ? "  she  asked  him. 
"  Or  shall  we  wait  here  until  they  come  ?  Won't  they  be 
hungry  —  my ! " 

"  We'll  go  out  for  an  hour  if  you  like,  just  on  the  Boule- 
vards; it's  a  fine  night." 

"  And  you'll  leave  them  word  where  we  are." 

He  took  her  out,  just  for  an  hour,  up  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  then  along  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  turning  up  the 
Rue  de  Richelieu,  he  did  not  want  to  meet  any  one  he 
knew.  Sally  chattered,  and  he  had  to  respond.  He  had 
not  made  up  his  mind  to  any  plan  of  action.  Sally  felt  the 
influence  of  the  lighter  air  and  gayer  people.  Many  turned 
round  to  look  at  her,  standing  still  upon  the  pavement  and 
staring,  in  the  way  Frenchmen  have.  This  amused  her, 
and  once  she  turned  round  and  smiled  at  an  ttegant  outside 
one  of  the  cafes. 

Back  at  the  hotel,  running  lightly  up  to  the  salon,  Sarita 
had  still  no  premonition  of  anything  being  wrong. 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  they  haven't  come  yet  ?  " 
she  exclaimed.  She  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  coat  and 
come  back  to  the  room  to  find  Kiddie.  Kiddie  was  seated 

320 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

at  the  writing-table ;  he  had  sat  down  with  the  intention  of 
telling  Dorothea  what  he  thought  of  her.  But  his  hands 
were  trembling,  and  he  could  not  write.  He  had  to  en- 
lighten Sarita ;  but  he  did  not  know  how  to  do  it.  It  was 
nearly  eleven. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  No,  they  haven't  come  yet,"  his  voice 
faltering.  Then  he  got  up  from  the  writing-table,  and 
Sarita  saw  his  face,  it  was  very  pale.  Hers  went  pale  too. 

"  They  haven't  come !  "  she  repeated,  mechanically. 

"Sarita,"  he  came  over  to  her.  He  would  have  taken 
her  in  his  arms,  but  she  shrank  back,  her  eyes  wide,  rather 
frightened : 

"  We've  got  to  face  it.  Dorothea  and  Fellowes  got  into 
the  wrong  train.  .  .  ." 

"  On  purpose  ?  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  asking  ?  " 

She  sat  down  by  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
She  hid  her  face  from  him,  resting  it  in  her  hands.  He 
came  over  to  her,  and  put  his  arms  about  her,  trying  gently 
to  move  her  hands  from  her  face,  that  he  might  look  at 
her. 

"  You  know  I  did  not  mean  this  ?  "  he  said. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"You  know  how  I  care  for  you."  He  put  his  face 
against  hers.  "  I'll  take  care  of  you,  and  love  you  all  your 
life,  Sarita,  trust  me ;  you  shall  never  be  sorry,  I  swear  it. 
Love  me,  trust  me.'/ 

She  did  not  repel  him,  she  was  listening,  held  by  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  and  the  sense  of  his  face  near  hers. 
She  knew  that  she  loved  him.  And  he  pleaded  to  her, 
now  boyishly,  offering  her  gentleness  and  jewellery  in  a 
breath ;  now  like  a  man,  taking  away  her  breath,  carrying 
her  will  on  the  flood-tide  of  his  rising  passion. 

Presently  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck : 

Y  321 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Must  we  do  it,  Kiddie,  must  we?"  she  said  simply, 
breathlessly. 

They  held  each  other,  their  hearts  beating.  Kiddie's 
eyes  grew  wet  like  hers.  She  was  pleading  with  him  now : 

"  I  do  love  you.  I  didn't  mean  to,  I  didn't  mean  ever  to 
love  anybody,  only  to  work  and  keep  myself  honest,  and 
be  happy  in  myself.  I  am  not  happy  now,  I  never  shall 
be  again.  I'd  rather  be  dead  than  .  .  .  than  do  what  you 
want.  But  I  will  do  it,  if  you  say  I  must."  Her  breath 
came  quickly.  "  It  was  what  Lady  Dorothea  wanted  me 
to  do  from  the  first.  I  see  it  now.  She  thinks  it's  all  I'm 
fit  for.  But  it  isn't  true.  .  .  ." 

Kiddie  was  holding  her  very  tightly  to  him ;  her  strained 
eyes  and  his  dim  ones  saw  each  other  strangely. 

"Oh,  Kiddie!  let  me  be  good,  let  me  keep  good!"  she 
burst  out  crying,  entreating  him. 

Kiddie  had  grown  strangely  gentle.  He  drew  her  to  the 
sofa,  made  her  lie  down,  and  knelt  by  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  don't  cry.     I  can't  bear  to  see  you  cry." 

"  I  shall  never  do  anything  but  cry." 

"  You  would  give  yourself  to  me  ...  feeling  this  ?  " 

That  was  what  moved  him,  and  shook  the  very  strength 
of  his  desire.  It  was  all  true.  She  had  only  wanted  to 
work,  and  be  happy ;  he  would  be  taking  work  from  her, 
that  was  the  bribe  he  offered  her,  he  would  make  her 
ashamed.  All  the  glamour  went  out  of  the  prospect ;  this 
was  the  second  time  she  had  chilled  all  the  fire  of  his 
passion  for  her,  flooding  it  in  tenderness.  He  loved  her, 
and  there  was  not  that  in  him  to  hurt  the  thing  he  loved. 
There  was  no  evil  in  him,  except  that  which  his  adult  educa- 
tion had  laid  on  him.  It  was  a  thin  veneer  j  and  it  all 
peeled  off  at  the  touch  of  love. 

"  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

He  vowed  it  to  himself  as  well  as  to  her. 

322 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  tell  me  only  that,  leave  off  crying, 
don't  be  frightened.  Sarita,  we  must  talk,  don't  turn  your 
face  away  from  me.  I  only  want  to  know  one  thing,  but 
I  must  know  it.  Do  you  love  me  as  ...  as  I  love 
you  ?  " 

She  sat  up  on  the  sofa,  looked  into  his  eyes,  faltered,  red- 
dened, paled,  then  hid  her  own  again  on  his  breast.  In  that 
moment  she  knew  her  own  desire,  felt  something  of  Kiddie's. 
She  wanted  to  yield  to  him;  she  had  a  loving  woman's  sud- 
den weakness  of  surrender : 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  do,  I  do  love  you."  They  clung  to  each 
other. 

"  Will  you  love  me  —  love  me,  for  ever  ?  "  His  voice  was 
difficult. 

"  I  don't  know.  .  .  .     I've  never  felt  like  this." 

She  was  burning,  her  hands  and  her  cheeks  and  her  lips 
all  one  flush.  But  his  face  against  hers  cooled  her,  and  the 
feel  of  his  shoulder  comforted.  He  kissed  her  too,  so  ten- 
derly, so  differently ;  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes. 

Then  he  stood  up ;  how  tall  and  strong  he  was  !  His  face 
looked  strong  too,  with  the  square  chin,  and  in  the  grey 
eyes  there  was  a  new  determination.  No  one  was  like  Kid- 
die. How  could  she  deny  him  ?  Let  the  misery  come  to 
her,  the  misery  of  to-morrow's  self -contempt.  She  could 
drown  herself  to-morrow;  but  to-night,  to-night,  Kiddie 
might  do  what  he  liked.  Thought  took  her  no  further,  she 
fell  trembling  before  him,  hiding  her  desperate  face  in  the 
sofa  cushion. 

"What  is  the  address  of  that  lady  who  helped  you  in 
your  packing  ?  You've  spoken  of  her  to  me  often.  Miss 
Rugeley  —  what  is  Miss  Eugeley's  address?  " 

"  Miss  —  Miss  Rugeley,"  Sally  repeated.  She  wanted  to 
shriek  to  him  :  —  "  Oh,  don't  tell  her,  don't  tell  her.  Have 
your  way  with  me.  Who  am  I  to  deny  you  ?  But  she 

323 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

must  not  know.     I'll  drown  myself  to-morrow.     Only  don't 
tell  her ;  don't  ever  let  her  know." 

"  Yes  !  It's  too  late  to-night.  But  I'm  going  round  to 
Meurice's ;  I  can  wire  from  there.  She  is  really  a  good 
friend  of  yours,  isn't  she  ?  She'd  come  to  you  if  you  sent 
for  her." 

Did  he  know  she  was  going  to  drown  herself  to-morrow  9 
How  cruel !  She  pictured  herself  cold  in  death,  and  Ursula 
coming  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  still  in  that  strained  voice.  Why  did  he 
not  come  back  to  her  and  take  her  in  his  arms  ?  It  was 
cruel  of  him  to  think  of  to-morrow,  she  wanted  the  warmth 
of  his  arms  around  her,  and  his  face  close  to  hers.  All  her 
courage  was  oozing  away. 

Then  his  startling  words  fell : 

"  We  will  be  married  as  soon  as  ever  I  can  make  the  nec- 
essary arrangements.  At  the  Consulate  here,  or  in  London. 
You'll  want  some  one  with  you,  anyway,  on  the  way  back, 
or  here.  Give  me  her  address." 

Sarita  gasped  it  out.  She  was  unnerved,  such  a  thing  had 
never  entered  her  head.  Marry  Kiddie,  be  with  him  always, 
love  him  as  much  as  she  liked !  Her  brain  reeled.  It  was 
not  a  very  strong  brain  at  its  best,  not  quite  an  adult  one. 
Marry  Kiddie !  She  missed  his  next  few  sentences. 

Yes,  that  was  his  decision,  quite  irrevocable  now.  He 
would  carry  it  through  whatever  the  consequences.  Neither 
father  nor  mother  must  count.  As  for  his  position,  his  pros- 
pects, they  did  not  count  either.  For  every  man  there  was 
one  woman  in  the  world,  and  he  had  found  his.  "  Greater 
love  than  this  ; "  he  forgot  the  quotation,  but  he  knew  what 
Sarita  would  have  done  for  him. 

He  would  not  trust  himself  any  longer  with  her ;  besides, 
his  new-born  unselfishness  for  her  told  him  she  must  be 
tired,  deadly  tired. 

324 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"  Good  night,"  lie  said.    A  moment  again  they  clung  to 
each  other. 
"  Oh,  Kiddie." 

"  Say  '  Good  night,  my  Gilbert,  God  bless  you.' " 
"  God  bless  you." 
«  Gilbert." 
"  God  bless  you,  my  Gilbert." 


325 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  CERTAIN  amount  of  haste  had  to  be  observed,  and 
/\  a  measure  of  secrecy  secured.  Kiddie  was  not  un- 
aware of  either  necessity,  and,  if  he  had  been,  Ursula 
Rugeley's  attitude,  when  she  arrived  the  next  evening,  very 
bewildered  and  travel-worn,  but  in  time  for  dinner,  would 
have  assured  him  of  it. 

Miss  Rugeley  had  not  hesitated  to  come,  although  she 
could  not  imagine  what  had  occurred,  unless,  perhaps,  a 
railway  or  boat  accident.  She  could  not  understand  Sally 
meeting  her  at  the  station,  looking  so  well  and  happy,  nor 
the  presence  of  Lord  Kidderminster,  and  the  absence  of 
Lady  Dorothea, 

The  explanations  were  delayed  until  after  dinner.  Then 
the  depth  and  intensity  of  Ursula's  indignation  knew  no 
bounds.  It  had  been  a  trap ;  she  put  her  arms  closer 
round  the  girl,  a  trap  into  which  one  might  so  well  have 
fallen  !  But  Ursula  believed  in  the  Divine  Power,  it  was 
the  Divine  Power  that  had  shielded  Sarita  from  harm. 

When  her  indignation  was  a  little  spent,  she  enjoyed  the 
atmosphere  of  love  these  two  young  people  brought  about 
her;  Kiddie's  protecting  ways,  Sally's  newly  acquired 
coquettishness.  It  seemed  almost  a  different  Sally,  with- 
out her  independence  or  aloofness ;  she  was  transfigured, 
and  glowing  with  happiness.  Kiddie,  although  love  sat  in 
his  eyes,  softened  every  speech,  thrilled  in  the  deep  notes 
of  his  voice,  was  much  the  graver  of  the  two.  He  felt  it 
was  a  serious  step  he  was  taking.  He  would  have  given 

326 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

anything  for  his  mother's  countenance.  But  he  was  in  no 
humour  for  battle.  They  must  be  married  first;  Sarita 
must  be  irrevocably  bound  to  him  before  he  asked  permis- 
sion to  take  her.  Dorothea  had  played  him  one  trick ;  no 
one  should  be  in  a  position  a  second  time  to  rob  him  of  his 
happiness.  Dolly  might  have  spoken  of  Sarita  to  his 
mother,  spoken  falsely.  His  mother  should  see  her  only 
when  she  had  become  his  wife. 

Ursula  urged  in  vain.  Ursula  wanted  him  to  leave  her 
with  Sarita  in  Paris,  then  go  on  to  Monte  Carlo,  and  obtain 
his  parents'  consent.  She  did  not  see  the  difference  of 
position  quite  in  the  way  Lord  Kidderminster  saw  it,  in 
the  way  the  Marquess  of  Fortive  would  regard  it.  She  had 
a  very  high  opinion  of  Sally's  character,  an  old  maid's  ex- 
traordinary romantic  view  of  love,  and  a  hazy,  floating 
quotation  in  her  mind  about  "  kind  hearts  being  more  than 
coronets."  But  Kiddie  knew  his  people  too  well  to  consult 
them,  for  all  that  he  was  an  idolized  and  only  son. 

Ursula  had  arrived  on  Sunday.  By  eleven  o'clock  on 
Monday  morning  Kiddie  was  at  the  English  Consulate. 
Everybody  was  away  but  a  third  secretary,  and  one  or  two 
bored  attaches,  to  all  of  whom  Lord  Kidderminster  was 
unknown.  They  accepted  him  under  the  name  he  gave,  but 
they  were  unanimous  in  assuring  him  that  a  three  weeks' 
residence  in  the  capital  was  necessary  before  a  marriage 
could  take  place.  It  was  a  matter  not  open  to  argument, 
not  remediable  by  bribery,  it  was  the  inevitable  law  of  em- 
bassies, not  only  in  Paris,  but  in  every  civilized  country 
where  international  courtesies  prevail.  The  young  idlers  at 
the  big  house  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore*  were  very  sorry 
for  Kiddie.  He  was  quite  unable  to  conceal  his  feelings. 
Three  weeks  was  a  devilish  long  time  to  wait ;  they  sym- 
pathized with  his  obvious  chagrin,  his  furious  disappoint- 
ment. But  there  was  really  no  way  out  of  it. 

327 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Every  difficulty  increased  Kiddie's  restlessness,  his  des- 
perate determination  to  have  Sarita  for  wife,  his  fears  of 
interruption,  peremptory  or  pleading,  from  Monte  Carlo. 
The  news  at  the  embassy  was  check,  but  not  checkmate. 
He  was  back  at  the  Bristol  by  noon.  Sarita  and  Miss 
Rugeley,  conquering  all  difficulties  of  inexperience  and 
language,  had  been  out  shopping ;  the  results  of  their 
struggle  at  the  Son  MarcM  were  strewn  all  over  the  room  ; 
a  white  lace  blouse,  a  white  cloth  skirt,  a  white  hat,  un- 
trimmed,  ribbons  and  flowers  in  a  paper  parcel.  Already 
the  busy  fingers  were  making  loops,  and  tying  bows. 

"It's  orange  flowers  you've  got  there,"  he  said.  He 
fingered  the  paper  parcel.  Ursula's  presence  made  their 
greeting  little  different  from  what  it  had  been  in  the  Victoria 
Street  days.  It  was  only  under  circumstances  of  exceptional 
stress  that  either  Kiddie  or  Sarita  became  demonstrative. 
The  colour  came  and  went  in  her  happy  face,  when  he 
entered,  came  and  went  in  his  paler  one  as  he  avoided  the 
subject  of  which  his  mind  was  so  full. 

"  I  told  her  she  must  be  married  in  white,"  Ursula  inter- 
rupted ;  she,  too,  was  full  of  importance  and  business. 
"  The  blouse  fits  perfectly,  it's  Irish  lace,  real,  a  duchess 
might  wear  it.  We  shall  have  to  shorten  the  skirt,  I  can 
do  that  whilst  Sally  trims  her  hat.  You  don't  know  how 
clever  she  is  at  trimming  hats." 

"  She's  clever  at  everything." 

"  Well,  I  can't  do  my  work  if  you  don't  move  off,"  Sally 
answered  quickly. 

He  was  standing  by  her,  watching  her  deft  fingers ;  and 
now  his  arm  had  gone  about  her  shoulders.  She  was  a 
little  shy  with  him,  her  eyes  not  meeting  his  very  easily, 
and  her  colour  fluctuating.  But  she  tried  the  hat  on,  made 
him  give  an  opinion  as  to  the  position  of  the  trimming,  and 
was  perhaps  a  trifle  gayer,  more  talkative  than  usual,  not 

328 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

perfectly  at  ease.  The  simplicity  of  the  scene,  the  domes- 
ticity of  it,  appealed  to  him ;  always  she  gave  him  that  odd 
little  thrill,  half  pain,  half  pleasure. 

It  was  Ursula  who  had  urged  these  purchases,  who  had 
faced  Kiddie's  impatience  last  night,  and  known  there 
would  be  no  delay  in  the  marriage.  She  had  reckoned 
for  three  days'  grace,  she  had  meant  to  insist  upon  them. 
And  it  was  Ursula  who  realized  that  Kiddie  must  have  met 
with  some  check,  that  he  was  not  as  happy  as  last  evening, 
that  his  eyes  were  strained,  and  he  had  something  to  tell 
them.  Sally  tried  on  her  hat,  and  talked  of  their  morn- 
ing's experiences,  the  shopwalker's  funny  English,  the 
multiplicity  of  things  they  had  seen. 

"  Are  you  coming  out  to  lunch  ?  "  Kiddie  asked  presently. 

"  Oh !  let's  have  something  here,  I  can't  leave  my  hat." 

"  But  it  is  dull  for  you,  isn't  it  ?  You'd  like  to  see 
something  of  Paris  ?  "  Gilbert  asked  Miss  Eugeley.  Then 
he  said  hurriedly : 

"  We  shall  be  here  such  a  short  time.     You  see  .  .  ." 

It  was  really  difficult  to  tell  them  what  he  had  to  say. 
He  had  thought  it  all  out,  but,  to  use  his  own  phraseology, 
he  knew  it  was  "  pretty  stiff,"  having  brought  Miss  Eugeley 
out  here,  to  make  her  go  back  to-night.  Yet  that  was 
what  he  had  decided.  In  England  there  need  be  no  delay, 
they  could  get  a  special  license,  they  could  be  married  a 
few  hours  after  landing  on  English  soil.  If  it  came  to  that, 
they  need  not  go  further  than  Dover  ! 

When  at  length  he  got  it  all  out,  and  explained  the  Paris 
Embassy  difficulty,  and  the.  English  "special  license" 
facility,  he  carried  all  before  him  by  his  vehemence.  Ursula 
said  several  times  that  she  "did  wish"  he  would  com- 
municate with  his  parents.  But  Monte  Carlo  was  very 
vague  and  distant  to  her,  and,  when  Gilbert  answered 
shortly  that  it  was  quite  impossible,  the  particular  im- 

329 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

possibility  evaded  her.  She  thought  he  might  send  a 
"  Marconigrain,"  but  hardly  liked  to  suggest  it  on  account 
of  the  possible  expense.  In  fact,  she  was  hustled  and 
hurried  out  of  all  her  calm  good  sense.  Kiddie  actually 
succeeded  in  getting  them  to  the  Gare  du  Nord  in  time  for 
the  evening  train  and  night  boat.  They  were  bewildered 
and  breathless,  but  everything  had  been  packed  up,  the 
precious  wedding  hat  was  trimmed,  and  in  its  own  card- 
board box,  and  Kiddie  had  even  managed  to  take  them  to 
Rumpelrnayer's  to  tea,  and  had  shown  Ursula  the  outside 
of  the  Louvre,  the  Opera  House,  and  the  Madeleine,  in  a 
hurried  taximetric  hour. 

They  were  too  tired  to  be  sea-sick ;  or,  at  least,  that  is 
how  they  explained  to  each  other  their  enjoyment  of  a 
quiet  rest  in  their  double  cabin,  on  a  night  that  was  wind- 
less, on  a  sea  that  was  like  glass. 

London,  the  next  morning,  was  grey  and  strange  to  their 
sight.  Sally  felt  that  she  had  been  away  for  an  incredible 
time.  But  the  servants  at  that  trim  villa  of  Ursula's  had 
no  illusions,  and  were  at  first  resentful  of  their  mistress' 
rapid  return,  and  the  visitor  she  brought  with  her.  Kiddie 
had  put  the  ladies  in  a  cab,  and  let  them  go  to  Chepstow 
Villas  by  themselves.  He  had  his  work  to  do.  Hurry  was 
the  note  of  it,  hurry,  hurry,  hurry.  Nothing  must  stop 
the  marriage.  He  saw  his  Sarita  with  Miss  Rugeley, 
sheltered  and  seemly,  and  hourly  his  love  grew. 

She  had  offered  to  yield  .  .  .  that  had  been  the  supreme 
moment.  He  had  known  her  purity,  then  she  showed  him 
her  courage.  He  dared  not  think  it  was  her  love  she  had 
shown  him,  somehow  that  troubled  him.  She  must  be  his 
wife,  then  he  could  care  for  her  always,  showing  her  he  had 
understood.  Kiddie  was  all  aflame  with  his  chivalry  and  his 
tenderness,  and  his  appreciation  of  what  Sarita  would  have 
done  for  him.  She  clung  now  to  Ursula,  but  the  clinging 

330 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

showed  no  weakness,  only  a  certain  maidenliness,  shyness 
He  thrilled  at  this  and  at  herself,  at  the  consciousness  of 
her  manner  toward  him,  at  the  knowledge  of  how  soon  they 
would  be  man  and  wife. 

Sally  quickly  recovered  from  the  fatigues  of  the  hurried 
double  journey.  She  slept  them  off  whilst  Kiddie  was 
securing  his  license.  The  room  at  the  villa  was  happily 
familiar  to  her,  the  heavy  walnut  furniture,  the  hanging 
bookcases,  Brussels  carpet  and  autotypes,  the  mackintosh 
cloth  behind  the  washing  stand,  all  the  clean,  prim 
decorousness  of  Ursula's  home. 

"  I  knew  I  was  goin'  to  be  happy  from  the  first  moment 
I  set  eyes  on  it,  near  two  years  ago.  Oh !  my,  what  a  lot 
has  happened  since  then  "  was  the  thought  that  rose-lit  her 
sleepiness  as  her  head  touched  the  pillow. 

And  when  she  awoke,  quite  fresh  and  gay,  ready  for  her 
bath,  and  the  meal  Ursula's  forethought  had  provided,  she 
was  still  in  retrospective  humour.  There  was  a  note 
Kiddie  had  sent  up  by  cab. 

"  Fixed  everything  for  to-morrow  morning  twelve  o'clock, 
All  Saints  Church." 

This  was  the  gist  of  it.  He  was  not  good  at  expressing 
his  feelings  on  paper,  and  he  had  hardly  slept  since  Satur- 
day. He  said  he  was  "  going  to  have  a  '  Turker '  and  turn  in 
early.  But  after  to-morrow  .  .  ." 

Even  then  the  note  did  not  become  eloquent,  but  Sally 
was  quite  happy  when  she  had  spelled  it  out. 

She  was  going  to  be  married  to-morrow ;  her  dress  was 
all  ready,  and  her  hat  trimmed.  Ursula  Rugeley  was  in 
bed,  and  Kiddie  was  not  coming.  She  had  gloves  and  other 
little  things  to  buy,  and  she  felt  too  restless  to  stay  in  the 
house  alone.  She  ran  upstairs  again  when  she  had  read 
her  letter,  and  donned  hat  and  coat.  She  paused  in  the 
hall  to  call  down  to  Eliza  to  tell  Miss  Eugeley  when  she 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

woke,  that  she  would  be  back  in  a  couple  of  hours.  Then 
she  realized,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  how  glad  she  was  to  be 
back  in  London,  to  be  able  to  hail  the  familiar  omnibus 
in  her  own  vernacular,  to  be  once  more  free  and  self- 
confident. 

Of  course,  she  must  go  West  for  her  gloves  and  veil. 
She  sat  on  the  top  of  the  omnibus,  inhaled  joyfully  the 
London  air,  and,  forgetting  altogether  that  she  was  going 
to  be  Lady  Kidderminster,  remembered  only  that  she  was 
awfully  happy,  and  would  be  with  Gilbert  always  after 
to-morrow,  and  —  Mary  and  Alf  would  be  so  glad  to  know 
about  it.  And  —  yes,  that  came  to  her  quite  suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  the  block  at  the  Marble  Arch,  Alf  and  Mary 
must  come  to  her  wedding. 

She  bought  all  that  she  wanted  in  Regent  Street.  It 
was  really  only  a  step  from  there  to  Messrs.  Hall  & 
Palmer's.  That  step  Sally  took. 

The  forewoman  had  not  seen  her  since  her  accident.  It 
was  an  open  secret  at  the  factory  that  Sally  Snape  and  Miss 
Sarita  Mainwaring  were  one.  The  forewoman  was  rather 
inclined  to  be  impressed  by  Sally,  but  the  girl  was  not  at  all 
in  that  humour.  She  had  come  to  ask  a  favour,  and  the 
influence  of  the  factory  days  descending  upon  her  as  soon 
as  she  entered  the  factory,  she  asked  it  almost  humbly.  She 
was  going  to  be  married  to-morrow ;  might  Mary  Baines 
have  a  holiday  ?  Might  she  see  her  ?  Sally  knew  that  if 
she  secured  Mary$  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about  Alf. 
She  wanted  her  friends  with  her.  She  believed  she  knew 
where  she  could  find  Johnny  Doone,  she  would  try  to  get 
Johnny  after  she  had  secured  Mary  and  Alf. 

Miss  Frazer  hoped  it  was  a  nice  young  man  she  was 
marrying,  and  one  in  a  good  position  ?  Miss  Frazer  was 
full  of  curiosity,  but  Sally  had  no  time  to  gratify  it.  As 
soon  as  she  had  received  permission,  she  was  in  amongst 

332 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

the  great  seething  cauldrons  of  jam,  the  sound  of  the  boil- 
ing was  in  her  ears,  the  sweet,  sickly  smell  of  the  fruit 
in  her  nostrils.  She  was  surrounded  by  the  girls  in  their 
white  pinafores.  She  had  gone  on  the  stage,  now  she  had 
come  to  see  them ;  they  gathered  about  and  chattered 
to  her,  and  she  to  them,  until  Mary  came.  Mary  had 
been  promoted  to  the  pickle  room  ;  the  smell  she  carried 
of  gherkin  and  onion  was  sharp  against  the  sweet  atmo- 
sphere. Vinegar,  too,  Sally  detected,  as  she  and  Mary 
kissed  each  other.  Then  eager  question  and  surprising 
answer  uplifted  them  above  their  surroundings. 

Mary,  too,  was  going  to  be  married,  but  not  until  next 
month ;  it  had  been  put  off  because  Mrs.  Stevens  had  been 
ill.  But  Sally,  Sally  was  going  to  be  married  to-morrow ! 
Who  was  the  bridegroom  ?  Mary  knew  it  wasn't  Charlie 
Peastone,  Charlie  had  taken  up  with  a  barmaid  from  the 
"  Blue  Posts,"  a  red-headed  thing ;  Mary  couldn't  abide 
her.  It  wasn't,  it  couldn't  be,  was  it,  Johnny  Doone  ?  Not 
that  drunken  Luke  Cullen,  surely  not  ?  But  then,  to  be 
sure,  he'd  been  sober  enough  lately.  The  firm  had  taken 
him  back ;  he  knew  it  was  his  last  chance.  Was  it  Luke 
Cullen  ?  Mary  was  full  of  curiosity. 

Somehow,  the  interest  and  curiosity,  the  questioning  and 
cross-questioning,  struck  cold  on  Sally's  mood.  Since  she 
had  come  to  invite  her  to  the  wedding,  it  was  natural  that 
Mary  would  like  to  be  told  the  name  of  the  bridegroom. 
But,  all  at  once,  Sarita  found  it  difficult  to  speak  Gilbert's 
name,  suddenly  she  saw  her  marriage  as  they  would  see  it, 
she  saw  their  incredulity  and  exclamation.  She  was  once 
more  Sally  Snape,  the  factory  girl,  and  she  was  going  to 
marry  Lord  Kidderminster!  She  had  progressed  so  far; 
now,  looking  back,  it  seemed  such  a  little  way  to  her  old 
self. 

"  Never  mind  his  name,"  she  said  confusedly,  "  you  don't 

333 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

know  him.     You  just  come  to-morrow ;  then  you'll  see  for 
yourself.     I  want  you  at  my  wedding." 

"  And  you'll  come  to  mine  ?  " 

Sally  promised  faithfully.  She  evaded  question  as  far 
as  possible.  She  said  presently,  on  pressure,  that  his  name 
was  Gilbert,  and  she  admitted  he  was  well-to-do,  and  very 
good-looking.  She  became  momentarily  more  embarrassed, 
but  this  tongue-tied,  unready  Sally  was  the  one  they  knew. 

She  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  place,  but  this  was  not 
accomplished  before  she  had  met  Luke  Cullen,  who  looked 
very  grimy,  more  unsavoury,  more  impossible,  than  before. 
She  had  not  the  heart  to  avoid  him,  for  he  had  meant  well 
by  her.  And  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  But  Mary 
explained  the  situation,  quickly,  triumphantly,  and  Luke 
slunk  off  with  a  muttered  word,  incoherent. 

In  War  dour  Street  again,  and  alone  —  for  Mary  had  had 
to  get  back  to  work  —  Sally  felt  her  cheeks  were  burning. 
She  wished  she  had  not  come,  she  wished  Gilbert  were  not 
Lord  Kidderminster,  and  so  far  above  her.  She  had  for- 
gotten the  difference  between  their  stations,  or  put  the  fact 
from  her,  and  her  spirits  fell  to  zero,  she  grew  cold,  and 
felt  at  once  how  tired  she  was,  and  how  long  the  day  had 
been! 

"  But  I  can't  leave  Johnny  out.  Johnny  and  me  have 
been  friends  too  long.  I  can't  leave  him  out  at  my  wedding." 
Sally  must  always  be  loyal,  she  sent  her  telegram  to 
Johnny. 

It  was  on  Saturday  that  Lady  Dorothea  had  carried  out 
her  brilliant  scheme  for  securing,  at  once,  Gilbert's  happiness, 
and  the  gratitude  of  his  parents.  It  was  the  following 
Wednesday  when  a  larger  party  than  Gilbert  had  antici- 
pated, but  smaller  than  the  heir  to  the  Marquis  of  Fortive 
might  have  expected,  assembled  at  All  Saints  Church  to 
witness  the  marriage  of  Sally  Snape. 

334 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

For  Johnny,  putting  his  feelings  in  the  background, 
came  in  response  to  that  telegram  to  see  that  his  lordship 
did  the  right  thing  by  her,  and  he  brought  with  him  a  small 
detachment  of  his  friends,  in  picturesque  scarlet  jerseys 
and  banded  caps.  Mary  was  there,  and  Alf  with  her, 
the  forewoman,  full  of  curiosity,  and  Luke  Cullen  full  of 
whisky.  A  selection  of  girls  from  the  factory,  who 
had  stood  at  the  same  cauldron,  and  picked  fruit  from 
the  same  basin  as  Sally,  came  to  see  her  "  turned  off." 
There  were  none  of  the  young  ladies  from  the  theatre, 
however,  the  news  had  not  penetrated  there.  Sally  had 
not  counted  them  among  her  friends.  She  had  never  been 
one  with  her  entourage  behind  the  footlights ;  neither  what 
was  fine  nor  what  was  coarse  in  her  had  been  akin  to 
their  fineness  or  coarseness.  She  had  been  an  alien  amongst 
them. 

Johnny  Doone  was  the  only  one  of  the  guests  who  knew 
the  bridegroom.  Neither  Alf  nor  Mary  could  believe  him 
when  he  gave  them  the  name,  as  they  waited  for  the 
coming  of  Sally  in  the  front  pew  of  the  church.  Exclama- 
tion, surprise,  incredulity,  filled  the  air. 

"Lord  Kidderminster!  Well,  I  never.  Sally  a  lady! 
Oh,  lor ! » 

"  He  couldn't  ha'  got  a  better  wife  if  he  searched  the 
world  over,"  said  Johnny  Doone  loyally ;  his  face  was  very 
pale,  and  he  felt  his  limbs  were  unsteady.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  he  had  had  hopes  of  winning  Sally  Snape  for 
himself;  perhaps  he  had  never  been  really  hopeful.  But 
they  were  friends,  and  Sally  liked  him  more  than  most. 
He  saw  her  look  round  the  church  when  she  came  in  with 
Miss  Rugeley,  and  she  smiled  when  she  saw  him,  he  knew 
it  was  at  him  she  smiled ;  his  loyalty  was  all  aflame  for 
her. 

"  Well,  we  shan't  see  much  of  her  after  this,  I'm  thinking. 

335 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

She  promised  to  come  to  my  wedding,  but  she'll  have  forgot 
that,"  Mary  answered. 

"  Sally  won't  forget,"  said  Johnny. 

"Hush!" 

She  came  in,  her  simple  white  dress  crowned  by  the 
home-made  hat.  Ursula,  in  black  silk,  played  the  mother's 
part  well.  Sally's  face  was  very  pale  under  her  white  hat, 
the  red  hair  was  the  only  note  of  colour  about  her.  ~No  one 
could  see  her  eyes,  until  Johnny  Doone  saw  them,  when  she 
sent  that  tremulous  smile  across  to  him.  Quite  suddenly, 
the  day  before,  a  sense  of  her  unworthiness  of  Gilbert  had 
come  to  her,  and  still  a  desperate  humility  was  hers. 
Johnny  would  understand,  he  would  remember  those  early 
days ;  she  was  thinking  that  when  she  smiled  deprecatingly 
at  him,  she  wanted  his  sympathy,  she  did  not  want  him  to 
think  she  had  grown  proud,  or  forgotten  that  day  when  she 
had  been  hungry  on  the  doorstep  at  Angel  Gardens. 

She  had  not  slept  last  night;  it  was  the  first  sleepless 
night  in  all  her  young  life.  Pictures  had  come  to  her,  from 
the  Limehouse  Street  days,  from  the  factory  days.  The 
great  difference  and  distance  between  herself  and  her  lover 
yawned  black  and  abysmal  before  her  tired  eyes.  But  in 
the  morning  Kiddie  came,  bringing  her  flowers,  and  lover's 
reassurances,  and  now  she  was  here  smiling. 

"She' snot  the  one  to  forget  old  friends,"  Johnny  exclaimed, 
under  his  breath,  as  she  stood  before  the  altar.  And 
Johnny  was  right. 

Kiddie,  suddenly  remembering  the  necessity  of  a  best  man, 
had  telegraphed  for  Edgar ;  and  it  was  the  exuberant  young 
Jew  who  stood  beside  him  as  he  and  Sally  knelt  together. 

They  knelt  at  the  altar,  those  two,  and  the  old  clergyman 
made  them  man  and  wife.  Sally  knew  little  of  prayer, 
but  she  put  up  a  petition,  a  child's  petition,  not  less  fervent 
because  almost  wordless,  that  she  might  prove  worthy  of 

336 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Kiddie,  and  make  him  happy.  She  knew  she  would  be  a 
good  wife  to  him,  and  work  for  him,  if  need  be.  She 
remained  on  her  knees  after  the  short  service  was  over, 
still  praying  that  she  might  grow  worthy  of  him.  She 
knew  she  loved  him.  And  Johnny,  oblivious  in  that 
moment  of  everything  but  her,  prayed,  too,  in  that  vocifer- 
ous, insistent,  familiar  way  he  had  been  taught,  that  God 
would  give  her  happiness.  Johnny's  eyes  and  Sally's  eyes 
were  wet  when  they  met  again. 

Gilbert,  having  forgotten  his  father  and  mother,  and  all 
he  owed  them,  having  thrust  out  of  his  mind,  duty,  memory, 
and  misgiving,  was  in  no  humour  for  the  religious  part  of 
the  ceremony.  He  jumped  up  as  soon  as  it  was  possible, 
hurrying  down  the  aisle  in  most  exuberant  mood,  ready 
to  receive  Tom  Peters'  congratulations,  to  be  interviewed 
by  a  representative  of  the  Press  Association,  to  shake 
hands  with  everybody  and  anybody,  to  issue  broadcast 
invitations.  Edgar  had  wasted  no  time,  it  was  to  Edgar 
Levi  he  owed  Tom's  dilatory  appearance,  and  the  adver- 
tisement the  occasion  demanded. 

"  You  must  all  come  on  to  the  Eltz,  and  have  breakfast. 
You'll  come,  Peters.  Go  on,  Levi,  there's  a  good  fellow, 
and  order  for  ...  how  many  shall  I  say,  Sarita  ?  " 

Sally,  with  a  hand  in  Johnny's,  and  one  in  Mary's,  with 
soft  eyes  wet,  grateful  to  all  her  friends  of  the  factory, 
feeling  their  sympathy  acutely,  answered  quickly : 

"  Oh,  all  of  them,  everybody  ! " 

"  Let  'em  all  come,"  quoted  Edgar. 

There  is  no  doubt  the  success  of  the  function  was  due  to 
him.  He  insisted  on  the  presence  of  the  Press  representa- 
tives, he  told  Johnny  he  was  to  bring  his  pals  along,  and 
the  four  red  jerseys  certainly  added  to  the  picturesqueness 
of  the  party.  The  factory  contingent  was  hurried  into 
cabs,  no  expostulations,  nor  hanging  back,  being  permitted, 
z  337 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Everybody  must  come.  And  it  was  Edgar's  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things  that  took  them  all  to  Romano's  Restaurant 
instead  of  to  the  Ritz  Hotel.  Edgar  and  Tom  escorted 
Miss  Rugeley,  a  strange  trio.  Sally  and  Gilbert  went  off, 
gaily  enough,  in  the  motor,  to  the  admiration  of  the  crowd 
of  small  guttersnipes  and  street  idlers  who  had  collected. 

"  Isn't  it  jolly  that  they  are  all  coining  along  with  us  ? 
It  is  awfully  good  of  you  to  ask  them,"  was  Sally's  first 
speech  to  her  new  husband.  "  There's  only  one  thing  I've 
got  left  to  wish  for ! " 

"  What's  that  ?  You  oughtn't  to  have  even  one,  I  don't 
mean  you  ever  to  have  anything  left  to  wish  for."  But 
lie  was  too  happy  to  be  sentimental.  Edgar  had  insisted 
on  bracing  him  with  a  pint  of  champagne  before  they  had 
started  for  the  church. 

"  I  should  have  loved  to  have  had  Miss  Baines  and 
Mr.  Perry  too,"  she  said,  "  they  were  so  awfully  good  to 
me." 

"Who  is  Miss  Baines?  Is  Perry  that  bounder  at  Vi 
Farquharson's  ?  " 

"  Bounder  ?  "  she  answered  wonderingly. 

"  Rather  !  Didn't  you  know  he  was  a  bounder  ?  What 
a  lot  you've  got  to  learn,  darling ! "  He  laughed  joyously, 
as  he  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  made  her  put  her  head 
against  his  shoulder.  He  was  filled  with  the  thrill  of 
possession,  his  growing  excitement  hiding  all  he  should 
have  remembered.  It  even  carried  him  through  his  strange 
wedding  feast 


338 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE  first  news  Lord  Fortive  had  of  the  marriage  of  his 
only  son  stared  at  him  from  the  front  page  of  the  Con- 
tinental edition  of  the  "  Daily  Mail."  At  the  same  moment, 
Hildegarde's  exclamation  proved  it  to  be  in  the  "New  York 
Herald"  also.  Father  and  daughter  met  each  other's 
horrified  eyes : 

"  A  vulgar  canard !  " 

"  It  can't  be  true ! "  broke  from  both  of  them  simul- 
taneously. 

Tom  and  Edgar  had  done  their  picturesque  best  for 
Sally. 

Lord  Fortive  read,  after  a  complete,  and  only  passably 
incorrect,  description  of  his  own  rank,  estate,  and  career, 
that  Miss  Sarita  Main  waring,  who  for  a  short  time  had 
lent  the  charm  of  her  presence  to  the  Verandah  Theatre, 
•was  a  daughter  of  Mr.  James  Snape-Mainwaring,  for  long 
well  and  honourably  known  as  closely  connected  with  our 
shipping  industry. 

"  But  how  did  you  know  that  ?  "  Tom  had  asked  Edgar 
in  surprise,  as  he  read  the  proof. 

"  He  was  a  dock  labourer ;  you  can't  be  more  closely 
connected  with  our  shipping  industry  than  that,  can  you  ?  " 
Edgar  retorted,  unabashed. 

Even  this  casuistry  failed  to  soften  the  blow  at  the  Villa 
Bella  Vista.  Kiddie  had  written,  but  Kiddie's  letter  got 
there  some  hours  later  than  the  papers.  It  seemed  im- 
possible to  doubt,  and  yet  Lady  Fortive  doubted  when  her 
husband  brought  up  the  news. 

339 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  I  would  far  rather  have  read  that  he  had  been  killed 
in  a  railway  accident,"  said  Lord  Fortive  bitterly.  "  It 
is  not  only  the  marriage,  the  folly  and  wickedness  of  it, 
but  the  secrecy,  and  the  ingratitude!" 

"  Don't  condemn  him  unheard  —  don't !  Let  us  wait. 
My  boy  could  not  have  done  this  without  a  line,  a  word  to 
me  —  wait.  .  .  ." 

"  You've  spoilt  him,  from  first  to  last  you've  spoilt 
him.  .  .  ." 

Gilbert's  trembling  mother  admitted  it.  One  must 
blame  some  one  when  in  trouble;  and  this  was  trouble, 
serious  trouble,  for  them  all.  She  had  spoiled  Gilbert, 
perhaps,  but  she  had  loved  him,  loved  him  well. 

Dorothea  and  Colonel  Fellowes  arrived  at  the  Villa 
Bella  Vista  very  soon  after  the  papers,  although  not  in 
advance  of  the  English  representative  of  the  Press  Associa- 
tion. He  had  to  extract  his  news  from  the  servants. 
And  the  butler  was  a  temporary  engagement,  not  the 
family  retainer  from  Buckminster.  This  man  had  no  dis- 
cretion, and  little  information,  so  five  million  of  English 
people,  interested  in  aristocratic  news,  read  the  next  day 
that  the  first  intimation  Lord  Fortive  had  received  of  his 
son's  marriage  was  the  announcement  in  the  newspaper. 
And  each  newspaper  claimed  to  have  been  this  early 
medium.  The  interested  public  read  that  his  lordship  had 
said  he  would  rather  his  son  had  been  dead  than  that  he 
should  have  contracted  such  a  marriage,  and  he  hoped 
never  to  see  his  son  again.  They  learnt  that  there  was 
no  entail  on  the  property,  and  Lord  Fortive  would  dis- 
inherit the  heir  to  his  title. 

Each  paper  dealt  with  the  brief  information  from  the 
Press  Association  in  its  own  way,  according  to  its  traditions. 
The  editor  of  the  "Comet,"  for  instance,  had  a  difference 
of  opinion  with  his  American  advertisement  agent  on  the 

340 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

subject  of  Tom  Peters'  full-page  advertisement,  giving  a 
list  of  the  ladies  who  had  married  into  the  peerage  from 
the  Musical  Comedy  stage.  But  the  business  manager, 
backing  up  his  colleague,  recognized  the  new  tradition, 
and  even  insisted  upon  the  leader,  eulogistic  of  Tom 
Peters'  productions,  which  was  part  of  the  agreed  terms. 
The  American  advertisement  agent  made  the  Fortive- 
Mainwaring  marriage  the  nucleus  of  a  new  scheme,  by 
which  every  one  who  subscribed  to  the  "Comet"  for  one 
year  had  a  seat  allotted  monthly  at  one  of  the  musical 
comedies,  and  a  chance  in  a  big  matrimonial  lottery. 
For,  as  Mr.  Timson  ably  set  forth  in  the  circulars  making 
the  announcement,  the  matrimonial  chance  was  just  as  good 
for  those  in  the  stalls  as  those  behind  the  footlights.  To 
Be  Seen  was  the  thing.  To  Subscribe  for  a  Year's  Issue  of 
the  "  Comet "  insured  being  seen. 

The  other  papers  maintained  their  several  traditions. 

Dolly  rushed  into  the  Bella  Vista  to  blame,  to  condole, 
to  do  anything  but  confess  her  share  in  the  proceedings. 
She  had  been  much  startled  by  the  news.  Colonel  Fellowes 
had  not  said,  "I  told  you  so,"  or,  as  he  probably  thought, 
"  It  serves  you  right  for  interfering."  But  he  did  elevate 
his  eyebrows  when  she  read  the  startling  news  to  him,  and 
that  was  enough  to  make  her  stamp  her  foot  at  him  and 
lose  her  temper. 

At  the  Bella  Vista  she  had  only  Hildegarde  to  encounter. 
Lord  Fortive  had  withdrawn  to  his  study,  and  Lady  For- 
tive  would  hear  nothing,  see  nobody,  until  she  was  in  com- 
munication with  her  son.  Her  confidence  in  him  was 
sadly  shaken,  but  it  was  not  destroyed.  She  could  not  bear 
to  hear  his  father  say  he  wished  the  boy  were  dead,  although 
she  knew  the  speech  was  made  meaninglessly,  in  the  first 
shock  of  the  bad  news.  She  could  not  bear  even  Hilcle- 
garde's  exclamation  and  curiosity.  Her  heart  ached,  and 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

her  dry  eyes  ached,  her  pain  seemed  a  little  greater  than 
she  could  bear ;  but  she  knew  she  must  be  quiescent  until 
her  boy's  letter  came,  telling  her  how  it  had  been  with  him, 
why  he  had  so  cruelly  excommunicated  her,  cutting  her  off 
from  his  love  and  confidence.  She  knew  she  had  not  de- 
served this  from  him. 

Lord  Fortive  sent  for  Colonel  Fellowes,  later  in  the  day, 
and  questioned  him.  His  rage  had  all  gone,  his  angry 
words  were  as  if  they  had  never  been  spoken : 

"  I'm  quite  at  sea  about  it,  Fellowes.  I  can't  think  how 
it  came  about ;  we've  denied  him  nothing.  He  has  not  sent 
a  word  to  his  mother  or  to  me,  we  are  absolutely  in  the 
dark.  .  .  ." 

Colonel  Fellowes  hesitated,  he  did  not  want  to  give 
Dorothea  away.  He  felt  he,  too,  was  somewhat  to  blame. 
He  ought  to  have  got  out  of  the  train  when  they  reached 
Paris.  Kiddie  ought  not  to  have  been  left  alone.  It  had 
been,  as  he  said,  a  "devil's  trick,"  and  the  devil's  own 
broth  had  been  served  from  the  brewing.  Kiddie's  hand 
had  been  forced.  But  Colonel  Fellowes  hesitated  .  .  .  and 
left  the  story  untold. 

He  said  what  he  could  to  comfort  the  distracted  father. 
Lord  Fortive  was  in  no  mood  to  be  told  of  Sarita's  charm  ; 
but  Colonel  Fellowes  thought  he  was  justified  in  saying 
that,  beyond  the  fact  that  Miss  Mainwaring  had  danced  for 
a  very  short  time  at  the  Verandah  Theatre,  there  was 
nothing  against  her  personal  character.  And  he  adduced 
Mr.  Snape-Mainwaring,  and  the  shipping  industry,  as  a 
proof  of  respectability. 

"Dorothea  warned  me,"  Lord  Fortive  groaned.  "But 
I  was  a  damned  fool,  just  as  great  a  fool  as  that  unhappy 
boy.  .  .  ." 

Kiddie  had  not  reckoned  with  the  speed  and  ubiquitous- 
ness  of  the  Press,  he  had  forgotten  how  important  adver- 

342 


THE    HEART   OF   A  CHILD 

tisement  was  to  the  Verandah  Theatre  Syndicate,  and  Tom 
Peters'  productions  generally. 

Twenty-four  hours  passed  before  Kiddie's  letter  came, 
and  it  almost  seemed  then  that  it  had  come  too  late. 
For  all  Monte  Carlo  had  heard  the  newp,  and  Bella  Vista 
was  thronged  with  visitors,  Hildegarde's  friends,  as  well  as 
those  of  her  parents,  come  to  sympathize,  to  condole,  in 
some  cases,  of  course,  to  exult  a  little  at  a  misfortune  that 
was  not  their  own.  The  Fortives  had  brought  up  their 
only  son  on  a  "  system."  The  system  had  broken  down, 
and  this  alone  gave  some  little  excuse  for  satire  and  secret 
rejoicing.  Good  sons  were  rare,  and  the  Fortives,  in  a 
quiet  way,  had  "  swaggered "  theirs ;  their  nemesis  was 
upon  them  -swiftly,  and  the  spectacle  made  for  mirth. 

Lord  Fortive  faced  the  position  with  dignity,  Hildegarde 
'with  insatiable  curiosity.  Lady  Dorothea  had  the  privi- 
lege of  a  personal  acquaintance  with  the  new  Lady  Kidder- 
minster, and  Lady  Dorothea  was  besought  for  detail, 
overwhelmed  with  inquirers.  She  was  soon  in  her  impish 
element,  inventing,  lying,  exaggerating,  supplying  the 
required  gossip,  but  dumb  as  to  her  own  share  in  the 
catastrophe.  She  had  forgotten  it,  apparently,  before  the 
end  of  that  long  day  of  exhaustive  scandal-mongering. 
Colonel  Fellowes  almost  believed  that  he  had  dreamed  it, 
so  completely  did  it  escape  Lady  Dorothea's  fickle  memory. 

But  after  the  first  few  hours,  when  no  letter  arrived,  when 
no  telegram  came,  when  there  was  nothing  upon  which  to 
feed  the  starving  mother-heart  but  the  newspaper  para- 
graphs, and  the  idle  gossip  that  Hildegarde,  or  her  maid, 
brought  into  the  room,  Lady  Fortive  grew  faint  in  watching. 
Her  moral  strength  and  courage  held  until  the  last;  she 
knew  there  was  some  explanation,  that  her  Gilbert  had  not 
done  this  thing  wantonly,  cruelly.  She  told  his  father 
that  again  and  again.  She  urged  that  the  explanation 

343 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

was  to  come,  and  begged  him  to  withhold  judgment. 
The  hours  went  by,  and  her  hunger  for  a  word  from  her  boy 
grew  like  a  living  thing,  fastening  on  her  where  she  was 
weakest.  She  bore  through  the  day,  holding  herself  bravely ; 
but  collapse  came  in  the  evening,  after  the  last  post.  Then, 
and  then  only,  the  taut  strings  of  her  heart  relaxed,  and 
she  went  from  one  alarming  fainting  fit  into  another, 
whilst  hastily  summoned  doctors  and  nurses  brought  their 
feeble  science  to  bear  on  a  case  beyond  them. 

She  had  been  her  husband's  helpmate.  He  stood  by  her 
bedside  all  that  night,  his  mind  bent  on  the  problem  of  how 
to  help  her.  Every  other  consideration  was  brushed  aside. 
In  her  short  intervals  of  consciousness  Gilbert's  name 
was  always  on  her  lips ;  she  wanted  her  son. 

Lord  Fortive  was  brought  to  promise  that  he  would  try 
to  ascertain  Gilbert's  whereabouts,  that  he  would  send  for 
him  if  she  really  wished  it.  He  could  not  promise  forgive- 
ness, but  he  promised  suspension  of  judgment.  The 
boy  should  be  heard  in  his  own  defence.  The  recurring 
faintness,  or  perhaps  the  remedies  employed  to  strengthen 
her  against  them,  left  her  less  conscious,  and  therefore  less 
completely  reasonable.  Her  husband  had  perforce  to  put 
his  personal  grievance  out  of  mind,  to  give  assurance  and 
reassurance. 

"  Is  Gilbert  here  ?  He  has  written,  I  know  he  has  written 
me ;  he  would  not  have  left  me  without  a  letter.  Such  a 
good  son !  He  has  always  been  such  a  loving  son  to  me." 
These  were  her  broken  phrases. 

"  Gilbert,"  she  would  call,  opening  the  eyes  that  could 
no  longer  see.  "  "Where  is  my  boy  ?  "  she  would  ask  in 
that  faint  voice.  And  smile,  thinking  the  hand  that  met 
hers  was  his.  So  the  long  night  passed.  Again  and  again 
they  thought  she  would  pass  with  it.  But  toward  the 
morning  she  fell  into  a  calm  sleep. 

344 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

The  end  of  the  night's  vigil  and  desperate  anxiety  was  a 
pink  dawn  that  brought  hope,  trailing  rose  and  gold  over 
the  blue  Mediterranean,  lighting  the  sick-room,  irradiating 
the  exhaustion  of  the  invalid,  flooding  through  curtains 
and  blinds.  And  the  promise  it  brought  was  fulfilled. 

The  first  post  brought  Gilbert's  letter  to  his  mother.  It 
is  probable  her  instinct  prevised  its  coming  and  calmed 
her  into  sleep.  They  could  not  wake  her  for  it,  every 
minute  she  slept  was  ticking  life  back  for  her.  Lord 
Fortive  opened  the  letter,  he  wanted  Gilbert's  address,  he 
meant  to  keep  his  promise. 

This  was  what  Kiddie  wrote : 

"WHITE  HART  HOTEL, 

"  WINDSOR. 
"DEAR  MATER, 

"I  suppose  you'll  be  awfully  upset  to  hear 
I'm  married.  I  don't  know  what  the  governor  will 
say,  but  I'm  sure  when  he  sees  my  Sarita  he'll  say  I 
was  quite  right.  She  reminds  me  of  you  in  ever  so 
many  ways  ;  I  know  you'll  love  her.  I  didn't  mean 
to  do  it  without  asking  you,  but  Dolly  played  me  a 
dirty  trick — just  like  her.  She  was  bringing  Sarita  out 
to  you,  so  that  you  should  see  her  for  yourselves,  and 
then  she  left  her  alone  in  Paris,  not  knowing  a  word 
of  the  language,  nor  a  soul  but  me.  I  couldn't  stand 
that,  so  I  got  a  pal  of  hers  over,  Miss  Ursula  Rugeley. 
I  daresay  you  know  her,  she  goes  in  for  slumming, 
and  all  sorts  of  charity  things.  We  were  married  in 
London,  and  I've  motored  here  for  a  few  days'  honey- 
mooning. I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  I  feel.  I 
haven't  been  much  of  a  fellow  up  to  now,  but  this  will 
make  all  the  difference.  I'm  going  to  ask  the  governor 
to  let  me  be  his  secretary,  and  I'll  get  in  the  House 
if  he  wants  me  to ;  I'm  different  about  everything. 
345 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

I  suppose  every  fellow  feels  like  that  when  he  marries, 
but  he  don't  always  get  a  Sarita.  I  waut  to  bring 
her  to  you.  I  can't  tell  what  you  think  about  it  all, 
I  mean  how  the  governor  takes  it.  I  know  you  always 
wanted  me  to  be  happy,  and  I'm  happier  than  I  ever 
thought  I  could  be.  May  I  come  on  to  the  Villa  for  a 
bit?  Sarita  has  never  seen  Monte.  I  want  you  to 
forgive  me  for  not  having  let  you  know  before,  but 
everything  happened  in  a  hurry  after  that  trick  Dolly 
played  us.  Write  me  soon.  We  shall  stay  here  until 
.  your  letter  comes.  I'm  always,  but  really  more  than 
ever,  because  I  know  what  it  means  better, 

"  Your  ever  loving  son, 

"  GILBERT." 

Lord  Fortive  read  only  the  address.  He  did  not  want 
to  hear  Kiddie's  excuses,  none  were  possible.  But  his 
mother  needed  him,  and  the  promises  of  the  night  must  be 
kept,  even  if  it  were  no  longer  a  dying  woman  who  had 
exacted  them.  When  she  awoke  she  should  be  greeted 
with  the  news  that  her  son  was  on  the  way  to  her.  Lord 
Fortive' s  telegram  was  brief. 

"Your  mother  needs  you  come  at  once  Fortive." 

The  telegram  reached  Gilbert  on  the  second  day  of  his 
honeymoon.  Already  "you"  meant  Sarita  and  himself; 
he  could  not  read  it  differently.  He  came  into  the  morning 
room  with  the  news  in  his  hand,  in  his  eyes  and  glowing 
face.  Sally  read  it  there  and  leaped  to  it. 

"  They've  forgiven  you  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Want  us  to  come  out  at  once.     Good  old  pater !  " 

"  What'll  they  say  when  they  see  me  ?  " 

"  They'll  say  what  a  darling  you  are." 

"  When  will  we  go  ?  " 

"I've  ordered  the  motor  round;  we'll  cut  through  as 

346 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

quick  as  we  can.  We've  missed  the  morning  train,  but  we'll 
get  to  Paris  to-night;  there's  a  thing  they  call  the  Cote" 
d'Azur  will  do  the  trick.  How  long  will  you  take  to  pack  ?  " 

"  Oh,  about  eight  minutes." 

"Bravo,  you  are  a  brick.  I  know  what  they'll  say 
when  they  see  you.  ..." 

"  Well,  not  if  you  hold  me  like  that,  I  can't  do  it  in  the 
time."  But  they  were  only  two  days  married,  and  the 
interval  for  honeymooning  was  but  natural. 

He  replied  lovingly  to  the  telegram.  He  was  com- 
pletely reassured  by  it.  It  never  entered  his  happiness- 
bemused  head  that  his  mother  was  ill ;  he  thought  his 
letter  had  moved  father  and  mother  to  instant  advocacy 
and  forgiveness !  He  had  always  been  a  spoiled  boy. 

"  Coming  quick  as  possible,  awfully  grateful  and  happy, 
loving  son,  Gilbert" 

They  went  straight  through,  travelling  night  and  day. 
Sarita's  courage  in  sea-sickness,  and  in  train-fatigue,  her 
loyal  desire  to  meet  his  instinct  for  speed  made  them  com- 
panions. Perhaps,  after  all,  he  had  an  unacknowledged 
misgiving.  He  said,  more  than  once,  that  he  was  surprised 
his  father  had  telegraphed  instead  of  his  mother,  he  seemed 
to  feel  there  was  a  necessity  for  hurry,  although  his  mind 
held  no  actual  anxiety. 

No  one  met  him  at  the  station,  and  this  damped  his 
spirits  considerably^ 

"  I  can't  make  it  out,"  he  said,  looking  up  and  down 
the  platform,  "I  can't  make  it  out  at  all."  His  head  had 
been  out  of  the  window  at  Nice,  and  again  at  Beaulieu.  He 
had  jumped  from  the  train  almost  before  it  had  stopped 
at  the  Monte  Carlo  station.  And  he  had  been  up  and 
down  the  platform  quickly.  Now  he  came  back  to  their 
carriage.  "I  can't  make  it  out  at  all,  there  is  no  one 
here  from  the  Villa !  " 

347 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Perhaps  it's  because  it's  so  early,  they  didn't  expect 
you  until  the  next  train.  Let  me  stay  here  while  you  go 
and  see." 

"  Oh,  rot,  they  wired  for  us.     Come  on." 

The  fly  that  crawled  up  to  the  Bella  Vista  carried  a  sud- 
denly perturbed  and  uneasy  Lord  Kidderminster  and  a  very 
over-tired  and  travel-worn  young  wife.  All  the  colour 
and  confidence  had  gone  out  of  her;  she  felt  draggled- 
tailed  and  dishevelled,  and  remembered  vividly  that  she 
had  been  a  factory  girl. 

The  carriage  gates  were  as  yet  unopened ;  it  really  seemed 
as  if  they  were  not  expected.  There  was  no  sign  of  wel- 
come; the  garden  lay  green  and  beautiful  in  the  sunlight, 
the  palms  waved  to  them,  the  syringas  and  roses  flung  out 
their  generous  sweets,  but  that  was  all. 

"There  does  not  seem  anybody  about.  Do  you  mind 
waiting  in  the  fly  whilst  I  go  and  rout  them  out  ?  " 

Sarita  minded  nothing.  Gilbert  was  through  the  gates 
and  up  the  winding  gravel  path  before  she  had  time  to 
answer.  No  one  was  in  the  garden,  no  one  was  on  the 
verandah;  the  green  door  was  closed,  instead  of  hospit- 
ably open  as  of  old.  A  vigorous  pull  of  the  bell  gave 
but  a  muffled  sound.  At  length  it  brought  the  butler, 
the  unfamiliar  Italian  butler,  wh'o  eyed  the  intruder 
doubtfully : 

"  Hullo  !  Where  is  Bystairs  ?  Don't  you  know  me  ? 
What  the  devil  are  you  staring  at  ?  Where  is  my  father  ?  " 
began  impetuous  Kiddie. 

"  I  don't  think  his  lordship  is  seeing  visitors,"  stammered 
the  man,  in  his  native  tongue,  bewildered,  inadequate. 

"  I'm  not  a  visitor,  you  ass,  I'm  his  son.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

Hildegarde,  hearing  voices,  came  out  of  the  morning 
room.  "  Hush ! "  she  said,  "hush,  she  must  not  be  disturbed, 
nor  woke  out  of  her  sleep,  for  anything."  Then  she  caught 

348 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

sight  of  her  young  brother.  "  Oh,  it's  you.  You  mustn't 
wake  her,  do  keep  quiet." 

"Who!     What?" 

"  Didn't  you  know  mother  was  ill ! " 

The  news  staggered  him. 

"The  mater?  No!  Why?  How  should  I  know? 
Nobody  told  me.  She  is  sure  to  have  heard  my  voice.  I'd 
better  go  straight  up.  Look  after  Sarita  for  me,  will  you, 
she's  outside.  She  ought  to  go  straight  to  bed ;  she's 
done  to  the  world.  We  came  as  quick  as  we  could." 

It  was  Hildegarde's  turn  to  exclaim  — 

"  What !     You've  brought  her  with  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     Where's  the  governor  ?  " 

Hildegarde  could  not  tackle  the  situation. 

"  He  is  in  there ; "  she  indicated  her  father's  study. 
"You  really  can't  go  up  until  they  have  prepared  her. 
Did  they  know,  they  did  not  know,  surely,  that  you  were 
bringing  .  .  .  anybody  with  you?  "  The  euphemism  meant 
his  wife. 

Kiddie  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  his  father's 
door: 

"  You  didn't  think  I  was  coming  alone,  did  you  ?  " 

The  news  of  his  mother's  illness  had  seized  him  by  the 
throat ;  he  was  chilled  on  the  threshold  of  his  home. 

But  he  had  little  time  for  preparation,  for  now  Lord 
Fortive  had  heard  his  voice  : 

"  That  you,  Gilbert  ?  I  had  not  expected  you  so  soon, 
I  did  not  think  you  could  have  made  your  arrangements 
so  quickly,  we  were  hardly  looking  for  you  until  the 
afternoon." 

The  words  were  commonplace,  almost  kindly ;  indeed, 
Lord  Fortive  was  glad  he  was  here.  But  Kiddie's  courage 
left  him  suddenly.  He  was  shocked  to  see  the  change  in 
his  father's  face,  the  greyness  and  fatigue  —  or  was  it  grief  ? 

349 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

"  The  mater  .  .  .  ?  "  he  began  quickly,  his  breath  uneven 

"  Is  better,  much  better ;  it  was  touch-and-go  when  w& 
wired  you,  but  she  is  much  better,  sleeping  quietly.  The 
news  struck  her  down,  like  a  blow  from  a  fist;  she  could 
not  believe  it  of  you.  Neither  could  I." 

He  paused,  he  did  not  mean  to  make  a  scene,  he  wanted 
to  carry  out  the  spirit,  not  the  letter  only,  of  what  he  had 
promised  in  that  anxious  night. 

"  Come  in,"  he  went  on,  "  sit  down.  You  can't  go  up 
until  she  has  been  prepared."  He  spoke  more  slowly  than 
usual,  heavily.  Kiddie's  heart  was  full,  he  had  expected 
anger,  perhaps,  not  grief ;  he  loved  his  parents. 

"I  never  meant  it,  believe  me,  sir,  I  never  meant  it;  it 
was  .  .  .';  the  boy  began,  although  speech  was  chilled  in  him. 

"I  can't  hear  now,  I've  promised  your  mother  she 
should  see  you  first.  You  will  remember  she  is  very  weak, 
hardly  out  of  danger;  for  the  moment  we  must  think  of 
nothing  but  what  is  best  for  her." 

"I'll  go  up  as  soon  as  I  may.  I'll  explain  everything." 
Gilbert  was  very  pale.  "  But  Sarita  .  .  ." 

Lord  Fortive  could  hardly  believe  the  news  that  was 
being  conveyed  to  him  : 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  had  the  insolence, 
the  bad  taste,  to  bring  that  woman  here  ?  "  Lord  Fortive's 
face  grew  very  red,  and  the  veins  in  his  forehead  worked 
a  little,  but  he  tried  to  restrain  himself. 

Kiddie  went  a  little  whiter,  and  began  to  see  that  he  had 
make  a  mistake. 

"  Here,  where  your  mother  and  sister  are,  to  expose 
them  to  the  contamination  of  this  woman.  .  .  .  It's  — 
it's  infamous ;  it  is  an  outrage  .  .  ." 

"  Father "  —  Kiddie's  voice  was  choked,  and  his  words 
were  difficult  —  "it  is  my  wife,  my  wife  you  are  speaking 
of  .  .  ." 

350 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

"  The  more  shame  to  you.  The  wife  you  picked  out  of 
a  stew  !  How  dared  you  bring  her  here,  how  dared  you  ?  " 

"Father!" 

Now  there  was  a  high  anger  in  Kiddie's  voice,  a  rising, 
threatening  passion. 

But  Lord  Fortive  had  had  two  nights'  watching.  The 
words  had  been  beating  on  his  brain  all  these  forty-eight 
hours,  fighting  for  utterance. 

"  Don't  try  and  tell  me.  I  know  the  farmyard  morality 
of  the  chorus  girl,  the  ..." 

But  Kiddie,  although  shaken  and  shocked  by  the  news 
of  his  mother's  illness,  and  the  sight  of  his  father's  face, 
would  not  let  him  say  more.  He  seized  his  arm,  he  forgot 
his  respect : 

"  Be  quiet,"  he  said,  "  be  quiet.     .  ." 

He  was  in  great  trouble,  he  knew  now  he  had  been 
selfish,  impetuous ;  his  father's  face  told  him  of  the  suffer- 
ing he  had'  caused,  but  his  new,  sensitive  manhood,  and 
the  pride  of  it,  set  his  blood  on  fire  : 

"  I  won't  hear,  I  won't  listen.  I  am  going  to  my  wife. 
We  stand  or  fall  together.  How  dare  you  speak  so  of 
her !  Sir,  it  is  you  who  forget  yourself,"  he  said,  beside 
himself  with  rage.  Now  he  made  for  the  door : 

"  I'm  going  now.  You  sent  for  us,  or  I  should  not  have 
come.  I'm  going,  I  won't  come  back.  I'll  come  nowhere 
she  isn't  respected.  .  .  ." 

"You  forget  your  mother,"  Lord  Fortive  said,  in  a 
milder  voice.  It  was  true  he  had  been  wrong,  Kiddie's 
passion-torn  voice  proved  it.  The  "  slut "  was  his  wife ; 
that  was  the  way  Lord  Fortive  worded  his  apology  to 
himself. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  said  too  much ;  I  know  more  of  these 
theatre  women  than  you  do.  I  suppose  you  were  drunk,  or 
drugged." 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

But  Kiddie  had  not  stayed  to  hear  more.  He  was  out 
of  the  room,  brushing  past  Hildegarde,  who  was  waiting 
aimlessly  in  the  hall,  and  a  couple  of  curious  servants; 
he  was  out  of  the  house,  through  the  palms,  past  the 
syringas,  before  they  had  realized  his  flight,  getting  as 
quickly  as  he  could  to  the  carriage,  where  Sally  waited, 
half  asleep  in  the  sun.  He  got  in  beside  her : 

"To  the  Hotel  de  Paris,"  he  said  to  the  cocher.  His 
voice  was  a  sobbing  breath. 

Her  startled  eyes  saw  his  face,  and  her  quick  intuition 
hit  upon  the  truth. 

"It  wasn't  me  they  wanted,  it  was  you,  without  me  ?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  in  his ;  Kiddie  had  borne 
all  that  he  was  able,  his  voice  was  quite  broken : 

"  My  mother  is  ill ;  I  did  not  see  my  mother." 

He  could  not  tell  Sarita  what  had  occurred,  he  said  the 
first  thing  that  came  to  his  lips.  His  mother's  illness 
must  account  for  his  agitation,  for  everything. 

"  111 !     Oh  !  poor  Gilbert." 

She  put  his  hand  against  her  cheek. 

"Poor  Gilbert,"  she  said  again.  "Never  mind  talking. 
You'll  go  back  to  her  soon;  never  mind  about  me,  I'll  be 
all  right  alone,  I  can  look  after  myself ;  I've  got  hold  of 
a  few  French  words,  I'll  make  myself  understood." 

How  quick  she  was  in  sympathy,  surely  there  had  never 
been  any  one  like  her  ! 

"  You  just  see  me  to  the  hotel.  Barlow  will  soon  have 
the  luggage  up,  and  you  can  change  and  get  comfy.  You'll 
be  back  in  a  couple  of  hours." 

"To  think  that  at  my  own  father's  house  .  .  ."  there 
was  actually  a  sob  in  his  throat  at  the  thought  that  she 
had  been  turned  from  his  father's  house. 

"  Don't  you  go  thinking,  you're  too  tired.  They  didn't 
expect  you'd  have  brought  me  along.  I  must  have  looked 

352 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

a  sight  if  they  saw  me  out  of  the  window.  But  just  wait 
till  I'm  togged  up  ;  they'll  think  different  of  me  then." 

Her  hand  in  his  comforted  him  a  little. 

At  the  Paris  he  was  solicitous  for  her  comfort.  All  at 
once,  and  it  was  a  unique  experience  for  him,  his  own 
seemed  of  little  moment.  The  best  suite  of  rooms  must 
be  prepared  for  Lady  Kidderminster,  the  bath  must  be 
got  ready,  the  coffee  brought  up ;  Kiddie  issued  peremp- 
tory orders,  and  they  were  quickly  obeyed.  It  was  a 
relief  to  him  to  be  doing  something  for  her,  he  must  make 
up  to  her  for  what  his  father  had  said. 

By  the  time  Barlow  arrived  Sally  was  half-way  to  the 
completion  of  her  toilette,  she  would  have  been  through 
with  it  if  Kiddie  had  not  had  something  very  like  a  break- 
down, when  he  had  taken  her  in  his  arms,  and  talked 
rather  wildly  about  her  being  miles  too  good  for  him, 
whatever  anybody  thought,  and  about  his  father's  vile 
insinuations,  and  other  matters  that  Sally  brushed  away 
with  her  usual  good  sense. 

"  You  are  overtired,  that's  what  you  are.  You  have 
your  bath,  and  see  how  different  you'll  feel  about  it  then. 
He  did  not  mean  it,  didn't  your  father.  Look  how  early  it 
is.  He's  upset,  too,  it's  natural  enough  if  his  wife's  ill. 
Wait  till  you've  all  had  breakfast.  How  would  you  like 
it,  if  I'd  been  taken  bad?  You  wouldn't  be  so  civil  to 
everybody  if  I  was  ill.  He  didn't  know  what  he  was 
saying,  most  like." 

But  she  liked  his  clinging  to  her,  and  perhaps  his  break- 
down, that  she  could  soothe.  She  was  stronger  than  he, 
though  neither  of  them  realized  it  yet.  And  what  did 
opposition  matter,  seeing  they  were  married,  and  nobody 
could  unmarry  them  ?  Her  simplicity  did  not  dive  beyond 
the  obvious.  If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  and  Lord 
Fortive  would  not  forgive  Gilbert  for  marrying  her,  nor 
2  A.  353 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

give  him  any  money  to  live  upon,  she  would  go  back  to 
the  stage;  they  weren't  tired  of  her  dancing  yet.  Mr. 
Peters'  last  words  to  her  had  been  that  he  hoped  to  see  her 
back  at  the  Verandah.  Meanwhile  there  was  that  question 
of  bath  and  breakfast. 

She  had  almost  restored  Kiddie  to  his  wonted  good 
humour,  anyway  she  had  quite  restored  him  to  his  pride 
in  being  her  husband  when  a  breathless  messenger  rushed 
in  from  the  Villa  Bella  Vista. 

Lord  Fortive  had  had  a  hurried  summons  from  the 
Foreign  Office,  and  was  starting  immediately  for  London. 
Lord  Kidderminster  must  please  come  at  once  to  his 
mother. 

"  Is  that  all  the  message  ?    Did  they  only  say  me  ?  " 

He  was  not  going ;  he  said  so  at  once. 

"  Tell  my  father  I  shall  not  come.  I  told  him  the  only 
terms  upon  which  I  would  come  back." 

His  face  grew  quite  set,  his  young  obstinacy  braced 
itself.  He  had  finished  his  breakfast,  and  the  tray  still 
stood  upon  the  table.  Now  he  wanted  a  smoke,  and  the 
paper,  with  Sally  beside  him  on  the  couch,  leaning  against 
him  whilst  he  read.  He  wanted  the  conjugal  after-breakfast 
feeling  of  which  his  short  honeymoon  had  already  taught 
him  the  charm.  He  did  not  want  to  go  back  to  the 
Villa,  and  fight  her,  or  his  own,  battles;  he  wanted  to 
rest. 

"  I  shan't  come." 

It  was  far  in  the  afternoon  before  wiser  counsels  pre- 
vailed, before  Sally  had  persuaded  him  she  didn't  care 
what  anybody  said  about  her  : 

"  It  wasn't  as  if  he'd  seen  me ;  afhd  if  he  had,  out  of  the 
window,  by  chance,  goodness  knows  what  I  looked  like! 
You'll  be  sorry  if  you  don't  go  up  to  her.  She's  been  ill, 
and  you  ought  to  go.  We'll  walk  round  together ;  I  don't 

354 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

suppose  they'd  mind  if  I  waited  in  the  garden,  or  hung 
round  the  gate  until  you  come  out  .  .  ." 

It  was  true  that  Sally  had  a  great  deal  to  learn.  And 
even  now  Kiddie  was  impatient  in  teaching.  He  scouted 
the  idea  of  her  being  received  on  sufferance.  She  should 
not  go  near  the  Villa  until  they  invited  her  properly.  They 
must  remember  what  was  due  to  Lady  Kidderminster,  she 
must  remember  her  position.  .  .  . 

"  I  can't  remember  anything  but  there's  your  mother  wait- 
ing to  see  you,"  was  Sally's  answer  to  that,  "and  she  ill,  too; 
and  so  fond  of  you  she's  always  been.  .  .  ." 

But  he  did  not  go  willingly,  and  not  until  the  pencil  lines 
were  brought  to  him,  feebly  scrawled  — 

"  Come  to  me,  dear.    I  cannot  come  to  you.    Mother." 


355 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  was,  nevertheless,  fortunate  that  Raisuli  had  chosen 
this  moment  to  make  Sir  Harry  Maclean  his  captive. 
The  ferment  in  Morocco  having  aroused  the  Powers  to  a 
tardy  intervention,  Lord  Fortive  had  been  selected  by  the 
greatest  diplomat  of  them  all  as  the  most  fitting  person  to 
undertake  a  delicate  preliminary  skirmish  of  documents. 
Lord  Fortive's  journey  to  London  was  expedited  by  a  special 
train,  and  Kiddie  was  not  called  upon  to  confront  his  father 
whilst  his  blood  was  still  hot  from  the  remembrance  of  the 
epithets  hurled  at  his  young  wife. 

Kiddie  was  in  no  humour  to  make  allowances  for  any  one 
who  did  not  appreciate  Sally.  He  was  in  love  with  her.  If 
her  wealth  of  hair  and  wild  young  grace,  her  white  skin,  red 
lips,  and  the  smiles  that  flashed  from  them,  had  attracted 
him  at  a  distance,  they  had  certainly  not  proved  less  en- 
thralling when  he  had  the  freedom  of  them.  She  had  been 
shy  with  him,  and  he  realized  the  quality  of  her  shyness. 
It  was  not  because  she  thought  of,  or  remembered,  that  she 
was  Sally  Snape,  and  he  Lord  Kidderminster,  but  because 
all  her  quick  comprehension  and  ability  were  momentarily 
bewildered  by  new  emotions,  new  conditions,  new  experiences. 
Yet  how  had  she  borne  herself  ?  No  girl,  bred  in  the  pur- 
ple, could  have  shown  herself  more  naturally  modest  than 
this  daughter  of  the  slums.  The  attack  that  his  father  had 
made  upon  her,  from  the  position  he  had  taken  up,  had  over- 
whelmed the  boy  at  first.  Now  his  swelling  resentment 

356 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

blocked  out  his  father's  point  of  view,  he  could  see  only  his 
own.  And  that  was  why  it  was  well  that  Raisuli  was  on 
the  war-path  and  Lord  Fortive  required  so  urgently  at  the 
Foreign  Office.  It  was  not  the  moment  for  father  and  son 
to  meet. 

There  is  little  or  no  limit  to  the  influence  that  can  be 
exercised  by  a  good  wife,  who  is  also  an  intelligent  woman, 
over  a  clever  man  who  realizes  her.  Lord  Fortive  may  have 
had  his  defects  as  a  husband ;  his  wife  was  frequently  an 
invalid,  and  the  necessities  of  his  official  life  made  it  impos- 
sible for  him  to  play  the  nurse,  and  surround  her  with  his 
personal  tenderness  and  attention.  Also,  perhaps,  his  tem- 
perament would  have  made  that  role  an  uncongenial  one  for 
him  to  play ;  and,  although  the  greater  passion  of  her  life 
was  for  her  son,  she  cared  too  much  for  her  husband,  and 
too  little  for  herself,  to  have  wished  him  to  play  an  uncon- 
genial role. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  a  fine  appreciation,  a  con- 
noisseur's appreciation,  of  his  wife's  quality.  She  had  never 
attempted  to  guide  him,  but  there  had  been  many  times 
when  he  had  found  his  own  judgment  strengthened  by  adopt- 
ing her  point  of  view.  She  had  a  clear,  sane  grasp  of  difficult 
problems.  There  were  few  men  with  whom  he  cared  to  dis- 
cuss ethical  questions,  but  Lady  Fortive  had  the  talent  of 
her  virtues,  a  rare  gift.  And  it  was,  perhaps,  in  some  way 
due  to  her  that  he  had  held  and  kept  the  prestige  of  high 
conduct  and  noble  aims,  an  Imperialism  that  could  not  stoop 
to  mean  or  personal  gain,  a  patriotism  that  had  illumined 
both  his  policy  and  his  diplomacy. 

He  had  gone  up  to  her  as  soon  as  she  was  awake. 

"  Gilbert  came  by  the  early  train  ;  he  must  have  started 
the  day  before  yesterday,  the  moment  he  got  our  wire." 

"  I  knew  he  would,"  she  answered  softly.  "  I  knew  my 
boy  would  come  to  me." 

357 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  But  lie  has  had  the  impudence  to  bring  the  woman  with 
him ! " 

She  lay  quite  still,  for  a  moment.  She  had,  in  her  weak- 
ness, forgotten  that  this  would  happen ;  it  was  so  new,  so 
strange,  to  think  of  Gilbert  with  a  wife.  Now  she  must 
learn  that  he  was  no  longer  wholly  hers.  She  lay  quiet, 
tasting  the  bitterness  of  it. 

"  He  could  not  well  have  left  her  alone  on  her  honey- 
moon," she  murmured,  almost  to  herself.  Already  she  be- 
gan to  see  what  she  must  do,  what  they  must  both  sacrifice. 

Lord  Fortive  took  his  seat  by  her  couch,  he  could  see  the 
ravages  fatigue  or  emotion  had  made ;  the  sweet,  lined  face 
was  small  and  grey,  the  eyes  were  dark  and  sunken.  But 
the  spirit  in  them  was  clear  and  strong,  and  answered  the 
question  in  his  almost  before  it  was  spoken. 

"  Is  it  your  view  that  we  should  treat  the  boy  as  if  he  had 
done  nothing  disgraceful  ?  " 

"  Has  he  done  anything  disgraceful  ?  "  she  breathed. 

"  Or  anything  unusual  ?  Should  we  receive  this  Verandah 
Theatre  girl,  allow  her  to  associate  with  our  daughters,  our 
friends  .  .  ." 

"  Is  that  what  you  said  to  him  ?  " 

"  Practically." 

"He  had  brought  her  here  with  him,  sure  of  our  wel- 
come ?  " 

"  We  are  not  responsible  for  that." 

"  Are  we  not  ?  " 

She  smiled  faintly  at  him,  and  already  he  knew  that, 
whatever  Gilbert  had  done,  Gilbert  had  not  been  fairly 
treated  in  his  home-coming. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  he  said,  more  gently, 
touched  by  her  pallor ;  for  the  trouble  was  hers,  even  more 
than  his.  "  You  are  always  right ;  tell  me  what  we  must 
do." 

358 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"  He  will  be  in  a  very  difficult  position,"  she  answered, 
after  a  pause.  For  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  Earl  of 
Fountayne,  and  her  mother  had  been  a  Montgomery.  It 
cannot  be  imagined  that  she  realized,  without  suffering,  that 
the  blood  flowing  in  the  veins  of  her  son's  wife  was  of  such 
different  quality.  No  woman  less  prejudiced,  she  still  had 
her  prejudices,  and  in  the  deepest  recess  of  her  inner  con- 
sciousness, notwithstanding  all  she  said  and  did,  was  the 
feeling  that  a  girl  who  exposes  herself,  or  her  accomplish- 
ments, behind  the  glare  of  the  footlights,  to  any  vulgarian 
who  pays  his  sixpence  or  his  guinea  for  the  privilege  of  be- 
holding them,  is  outside  the  sympathy  or  understanding  of 
modest  wives  or  mothers,  whose  talents  are  for  the  home. 

"  He  has  made  a  damned  fool  of  himself,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,  and  wrecked  his  career.  As  for  difficulty,  there 
is  no  difficulty  in  living  with  a  chorus  girl  if  we  supply  him 
with  the  means.  And  there  need  be  no  question  of  that." 

He  was  going  to  yield,  he  knew  he  was  going  to  yield 
every  single  thing  she  asked  of  him.  He  had  not  realized 
it  in  the  first  moments  of  that  unexpected  interview  with 
his  son.  But  Gilbert  had  done  the  best  thing  possible  in 
bringing  his  wife  home  to  his  father's  house ;  he  had  proved 
his  own  faith  in  her.  And  what  was  this  story  about 
Dorothea  and  a  trap?  Already  rumours  about  it  had 
reached  Monte  Carlo.  Gilbert's  letter  said  something 
about  a  trick.  And  Dolly  had  hardly  been  able  to  refrain 
from  boasting  of  her  good  intentions.  Hildegarde  had  con- 
veyed something  of  it  to  her  father. 

"  I  don't  see  his  difficulties,"  he  said  again.  "  As  far  as 
politics  are  concerned,  he  has,  of  course,  done  for  himself 
completely.  There  is  no  place  to-day  for  a  man  who  has 
notoriously  made  a  fool  of  himself  with  a  woman." 

"  He  is  not  the  first  man,  dear,  even  in  our  order,  to  take  a 
wife  from  the  stage." 

359 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

«  True ! " 

Lord  Fortive  quickly  gave  a  list  of  titled  blackguards, 
whose  conjugal  infelicities  with  their  congenial  partners 
were  notorious.  She  was  not  too  feeble  to  cap  this  with 
another,  which,  beginning  in  the  eighteenth  century  with 
the  ancestors  of  her  husband's  immediate  and  best  friend, 
went  on  to  his  own  day,  with  one  royal  example,  and  two 
equally  successful. 

She  knew  that  Gilbert's  wife,  Lady  Kidderminster, 
should  not  have  been  turned  from  the  door.  And  he  knew 
it  too. 

"  We  know  nothing  against  her,"  she  urged,  a  little  faintly 
perhaps.  How  could  she  plead  for  the  girl,  or  woman,  who 
had  robbed  her  of  her  boy  ? 

"The  Verandah  Theatre  is  not  a  notorious  school  for 
saints." 

"  She  was  only  on  the  stage  three  months,  Hilda  told  me. 
And  he  seems  to  have  looked  after  her  all  that  time." 

"  It's  a  pity  he  did  not  go  on  looking  after  her,"  he  said, 
under  his  breath. 

"  She  may  have  fine  qualities." 

"  She  may.  .  .  .  But  at  present  the  only  one  of  which  we 
have  heard  is  her  high  kick  ! " 

The  invalid  went  on  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him.  It  was 
herself  she  was  persuading. 

"  What  will  become  of  them  if  we  fail  to  countenance  the 
marriage  ?  " 

Lord  Fortive  knew,  perhaps  even  better  than  his  wife, 
that  May  fair  has  its  divisions  and  subdivisions.  That  ostra- 
cized corner  which  an  ill-informed  Press  and  priesthood 
advertise  and  preach  against  under  the  pseudonymous  title 
of  the  "  Smart  Set,"  has  a  disgraceful  existence  in  the  pur- 
lieus. But  it  is  no  more  representative  of  society,  in  the 
sense  of  the  word  that  Lady  Fortive  understood  it,  than  the 

360 


THE    HEART  OF   A   CHILD 

loiterers  in  Piccadilly  are  representative  of  the  modest  and 
self-respecting  members  of  the  middle  and  working  classes 
from  which  such  unfortunates  are  recruited. 

"  If  we  set  the  example  of  ignoring  Gilbert  and  his  wife, 
we  cannot  expect  that  .  .  ."  she  mentioned  the  names  of 
people  who  count,  not  "smart"  people,  but  worthy  ones, 
"  will  receive  them.  What  will  become  of  them  ?  " 

Lord  Fortive  was  not  anxious  for  argument;  on  some 
points,  at  least,  he  knew  his  attitude  to  be  indefensible. 

"  Don't  worry  about  their  reception  in  society,"  he  said 
drily,  for  his  sense  of  humour  was  never  wholly  in  abeyance. 
"  Lady  Avon  will  call  upon  them  —  in  Lent." 

"  But  what  she  will  give  is  Lenten  fare,  meatless,  meagre, 
and  unsatisfying,"  was  the  gentle  retort.  Their  intelligence 
was  too  nearly  on  a  par  for  him  to  be  able  to  fence  with  her 
without  getting  touched. 

They  had  not  carried  the  matter  much  further  when  the 
King's  Messenger  arrived  with  that  peremptory  recall  to 
duty.  Then  all  was  bustle  and  preparation;  the  whole 
household  was  requisitioned  to  expedite  Lord  Fortive's  de- 
parture. Many  loose  ends  in  his  correspondence  had  to  be 
gathered  up,  and  possible  emergencies  provided  for,  or  met. 
Gilbert's  affairs  had  perforce  to  be  thrust  into  the  back- 
ground, when  Imperial  interests  were  to  the  fore.  A  message 
was  sent  to  him,  but  the  bearer  of  it  came  back  without  an 
answer. 

"I  do  not  like  leaving  you,  with  everything  so  unsettled. 
I  sent  a  man  over  to  the  Paris,  to  tell  Gilbert  I  was  leaving, 
but  there  was  no  reply,"  Lord  Fortive  told  her,  when  every- 
thing had  been  done,  when  the  last  five  minutes  had  come, 
and  he  was  here  again  in  the  sick-room  to  bid  his  wife  good- 
bye. All  the  despatches  had  been  concluded,  the  luggage 
had  gone  on ;  from  the  upper  windows  of  the  villa  already 
the  special  train  could  be  seen,  getting  up  steam.  "Do 

361 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

what  you  think  best  about  the  boy.  I  will  put  an  inquiry 
or  so  through,  in  town,  and  let  you  know  what  I  hear.  I 
wish  you  were  stronger ;  I  wish  I  were  leaving  you  looking 
more  like  yourself." 

"  I  am  getting  well,  I  really  am.  I  slept  three  hours  last 
night.  I  shall  sleep  better  still  to-night,  after  I  have  seen 
Gilbert.  You  can  go  away  without  anxiety,  I  promise  to 
be  up  to  receive  you  when  you  return." 

She  smiled  at  him  ;  she  was  quite  brave  and  confident. 
They  had  known  for  a  long  time  that  her  tenure  of  life  was 
uncertain.  "  The  attack  has  passed,  I  am  safe  for  the  time 
being.  This  is  not  the  end,  believe  me,  I  am  on  the  road  to 
recovery.  You  give  me  full  power  with  him,  and  .  .  .  with 
her  ?  " 

"  Do  what  you  think  best.  I  am  afraid  he'll  have  a  bitter 
awakening.  Don't  be  unhappier  about  it  than  you  can  help. 
Good-bye,  good-bye,  take  care  of  yourself  for  all  our  sakes." 

He  was  gone. 

It  was  not  until  an  hour  or  so  later,  an  hour  or  two  during 
which  she  lay  gathering  her  strength,  that  she  sent  that 
pencilled  note  to  Gilbert  asking  him  to  come  to  her,  since 
she  could  not  come  to  him.  But  it  was  not  the  note,  it  was 
Sally's  influence,  that  drove  Kiddie  out  of  the  Hotel  de 
Paris,  across  the  sunlit  gardens,  to  the  Villa  Bella  Vista. 
And  it  was  still  a  reluctant  Gilbert  who  came.  He  could 
not  forget  how  he  had  rushed  from  the  house  this  morning, 
and  with  what  good  cause. 

Lady  Fortive,  hardly  out  of  danger,  still  prone  in  a  dark- 
ened room,  feeble  from  those  persistent  attacks  of  faintness, 
saw,  before  Gilbert  had  uttered  more  than  a  half  a  dozen 
words,  that  he  had  been  wounded,  and  was  sullen  from  the 
pain  of  his  hurt.  She  had  read  his  honeymoon  letter,  it  was 
even  now  under  her  pillow ;  and  divining  mother-love  sud- 
denly made  his  amazing  marriage  almost  clear  to  her. 

362 


THE   HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

"  Hullo !  Mater,"  he  began,  as  if  he  had  seen  her  but 
yesterday,  "  sorry  to  see  you  so  seedy.  What  has  been 
the  matter?" 

It  was  stupid  of  Hildegarde  and  the  nurse  to  have 
"  jawed "  at  him  about  the  necessity  for  calm,  for  not 
agitating  the  invalid.  He  was  not  going  to  make  a  scene. 
He  kissed  her  perfunctorily.  "What  has  been  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Nothing  much ;  the  heat  has  tried  me.  You  know  I 
am  never  very  strong." 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

"It's  this  beastly  place,  I  always  said  it  was  unhealthy." 
His  voice  was  toneless,  if  he  were  moved  by  the  sight  of 
her  he  would  not  show  it.  She  saw  how  he  had  been  hurt, 
wounded  in  his  pride  and  good  feeling. 

"  Has  the  pater  gone  ?  "  he  went  on,  knowing  the  an- 
swer beforehand,  but  thinking  it  necessary  to  keep  up  the 
conversation. 

"  Yes,  he  had  a  special." 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  Kiddie  had  come  here  this 
morning,  full  of  emotion,  eager  for  forgiveness,  had  come 
to  his  home,  as  an  only  son  does,  taking  his  welcome  for 
granted.  This  was  a  different  mood;  it  was  he  who  had 
been  wronged.  She  understood,  she  understood  from  the 
very  beginning.  It  was  only  love  that  could  renew  that 
wounded  spirit  of  his,  mother-love.  She  only  paused  for 
strength : 

«  Gilbert." 

He  came  over  to  her  again  at  that  call,  apparently  re- 
luctantly : 

"  Here,  you  must  not  excite  yourself,  you  know ;  they'll 
turn  me  out  if  you  do." 

Her  eyes  pleaded  with  him. 

"  Got  anything  to  say  ?  "  he  asked  indifferently. 

363 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"Everything." 

She  smiled  at  him,  the  always  loving  smile,  and  he  melted 
at  it,  inside.  But  how  was  he  to  know  she  had  not  backed 
up  his  father?  They  had  turned  his  young  wife  from 
the  door.  He  hardened  himself  against  her : 

"  Go  ahead,  then,"  he  said,  "  I'm  listening." 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  up  this  morning." 

«  Oh !  that's  all  right,  it  didn't  matter." 

"  But  you  brought  her  to  me." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh  : 

"  That's  where  I  went  wrong.  Don't  worry ;  we're  very 
comfortable  at  the  Paris." 

"  But  I  want  so  much  to  see  her." 

"  To  see  her  !  " 

"  To  see  my  son's  wife,  is  that  strange  ?  " 

«  Mater ! " 

He  could  not  harden  himself  for  long.  She  put  up  her 
arms  to  draw  him  down  to  her,  his  head  lay  a  moment  on 
her  breast ;  he  felt  her  trembling,  loving  hands  caress  his 
hair,  and  a  sob  broke  from  him  : 

"  You  don't  know  the  things  the  governor  said  about  her." 

"  He  did  not  mean  them,  dear.     You  startled  us." 

« But  I  wrote  .  .  ." 

"Your  letter  came  late.     He  read  it  first  in  the  papers." 

"Mater!" 

"  My  darling  ?  " 

"  You  know  I  didn't  mean  it  like  that." 

"I  know,  I  know." 

"  Is  it  my  fault  you've  been  so  ill  ?  " 

"No,  no." 

"  You  do  forgive  me  ?  " 

"My  son,  my  dear,  dear  son." 

She  could  only  hold  him  there,  murmuring  over  him. 

She  had  never  failed  him,  she  was  not  going  to  fail  him 

364 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

now.     It  was  true  he  was  her  spoilt  boy  and  darling,  "  such  a 
good  son  he  had  always  been  to  her  ! "     She  told  him  that : 

"I  know  you  never  meant  to  hurt  me.  Don't  be  un- 
happy, Gilbert,  don't  cry,  I  can't  bear  it,  I  can  bear  anything 
but  that!  I  wanted  you  should  never  have  an  unhappy 
moment.  That  was  my  prayer,  from  the  first  moment 
they  put  you  in  my  arms.  Tell  your  mammy  all  about  it, 
little  son ;  tell  me  all  the  trouble,  and  I'll  make  it  well." 

She  was  back  in  the  nursery  with  him. 

They  allowed  themselves  a  rare  moment,  uncontrolled. 
Notwithstanding  the  warnings,  it  did  her  no  harm.  How 
should  it,  when  he  took  her  in  his  strong,  young  arms  to 
calm  her,  reproacning  himself  ?  And  from  sobs  they  went 
to  laughter,  as  she  murmured  baby  talk.  She  touched  all 
the  new  tenderness  in  him  with  the  old  tenderness  that 
had  kept  his  boyhood  and  manhood  sweet.  It  was  only 
his  unhappiness,  or  his  self-reproaches,  that  she  could  not 
bear.  She  had  spent  half  a  lifetime  in  taking  stones  from 
his  path,  rolling  the  pitch  smooth  for  him.  The  sob,  the 
cry  of  "  mater "  from  him,  blotted  out  all  he  had  done. 

Very  soon  he  was  ashamed  of  his  emotion,  but  she  knew 
how  to  cover  that,  lying  back  on  her  pillows,  feigning 
perhaps  a  greater  weakness  than  she  felt,  that  he  might 
have  excuse  to  pet  her,  to  hold  her  hand  in  his. 

"  You  are  all  right  ?  "  he  asked  more  than  once.  He  had 
been  outside  himself,  not  normal,  but  he  recovered  quickly. 
"  Ought  you  not  to  have  brandy,  or  something  ?  " 

"  No !  It  is  doing  me  all  the  good  in  the  world  to  see 
you  here.  Can  you  stay  a  little  ?  " 

"As  long  as  you  like.  I  made  Sarita  go  to  bed.  We 
travelled  night  and  day,  and  she  got  no  sleep  in  the  train. 
She's  got  the  pluck  of  half  a  dozen  men." 

"  Poor  child !  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  been  there  this 
morning  to  care  for  her." 

365 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

That  nearly  broke  him  down  again.  "  She  .  .  .  she  has 
got  to  learn  things  perhaps.  She  .  .  .  she  is  only  a  child, 
mater.  I  ...  I  love  her,  be  good  to  her,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Have  I  not  always  cared  for  your  pets  ?  "  she  answered 
softly. 

And  then  they  were  silent  again  for  a  little  while. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  Tell  me,  tell  me  everything." 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  walk  about  ?     It  doesn't  fidget  you  ?" 

"  My  dear  !  nothing  you  do  fidgets  me." 

He  told  his  story,  walking  up  and  down  her  room,  his 
eyes  were  not  always  quite  dry,  nor  were  hers.  And  on  the 
whole  he  told  his  story  well : 

"I  struggled  against  it,  mater,  all  the  time.  I  fought 
against  it ;  I  knew  it  would  be  a  disappointment  to  you.  .  .  . 
I  tried  ..." 

He  could  not  tell  his  mother  what  he  had  hoped,  meant, 
intended,  what  it  was  he  had  tried,  and  failed,  to  do  to 
Sally.  He  could  not  look  into  those  pure,  loving  eyes  and 
say  the  words :  "  It  was  the  thing  all  men  do,  that  was  in 
my  mind  at  first."  He  could  not  say  that  to  his  mother. 
Nevertheless  he  told  his  story  well.  For  he  told  of  Sarita's 
purity,  and  the  childlike  quality  of  her  courage.  She  had 
stood  alone  in  the  world,  pitting  her  simplicity  and  in- 
dustry against  all  the  forces  arrayed  against  her : 

"Mater,  it  is  her  character  that  has  stood.  Don't  be- 
lieve, don't  let  any  one  ever  make  you  believe,  I  cared  for 
anything  else.  She  has  the  faith  of  a  child,  the  courage  of 
a  man ;  her  soul  is  as  clean  and  as  white  as  ...  as  yours, 
mater.  You  know  I  couldn't  say  it,  if  it  were  not  true." 

"  I  know,  my  darling,  I  know." 

"  She  does  not  know  what  it  is  to  lie ;  her  lips  are  as 
clean  as  her  heart,  mater." 

Then  he  tried  to  tell  her  other  things,  sacred  things; 

366 


THE   HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

that,  with  this  purity  of  heart  and  soul,  she  still  would 
have  given  herself  to  him,  in  love,  in  great  love,  if  he  would 
have  taken  the  gift.  He  told  her  of  Dorothea's  trick ;  and 
how  it  might  have  worked  if  Sarita  had  been  different. 

"  I  know  there  are  good  girls,  in  our  own  world,  girls  who 
are  as  you  must  have  been.  But  I  did  not  meet  one  like 
my  Sarita.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  waited,  to  have 
looked  about  more.  But  I'm  not  clever,  you  and  the  gov- 
ernor have  never  quite  known  how  inferior  I  am  to  you 
both ! » 

She  winced  at  that,  he  had  touched  a  wound;  it  had 
always  lain  there,-  that  little  tender  consciousness  that  Gil- 
bert was  not  so  clever  as  her  husband,  perhaps  even  not 
quite  so  quick  in  thought  as  herself.  And  so  had  the  more 
need  of  mother-love  and  care  about  him. 

"  Not  inferior,  Gilbert,"  she  interrupted,  "  younger,  less 
experienced."  The  tenderness  of  her  wavering  smile  made 
him  look  away : 

"  Well,  not  so  clever  as  my  father,  nor  so  good  as  you. 
But  this  will  make  all  the  difference.  I  shall  have  to 
take  care  of  her.  And,  mater,  she  .  .  .  she  thinks  the  world 
of  me  ! " 

He  was  back  by  the  bed  again,  his  cheek  against  hers  on 
the  pillow,  showing  his  heart  to  her,  knowing  she  was  with 
him. 

"  I  mean  to  be  worth  it,  worth  what  she  thinks.  I'll 
want  help  .  .  ." 

"  My  boy ! " 

"  You'll  help  me  and  her  ?  " 

"  I  won't  fail  you." 

She  had  never  failed  him. 

It  was  after  that  she  said  she  wished  he  had  "given  his 
father  more  time."  It  was  the  only  word  of  reproach  that 
fell  from  her  lips,  the  only  word  of  rebuke. 

367 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MONTE   CARLO  afforded  a   strange  experience  for 
Sally  Snape  during  the  next  few  days,  whilst  Lady 
Fortive  slowly  regained  her  normal  ill-health,  and  Gilbert 
sat  daily  with  her  dilating  always  upon  the  charm  of  his 
young  wife. 

He  had  a  vague  idea  that  Sally  should  spend  these  hours 
reposing  in  a  darkened  room.  But  she  flouted  the  idea  scorn- 
fully: 

"  What's  the  matter  with  me  that  I  should  lie  down  in 
the  daytime,  like  a  cat  on  the  hearthrug  or  a  dog  in  the 
sun?  I'll  go  out  and  see  the  shops  and  the  people.  Don't 
you  worry  about  me." 

But  it  was  natural  he  should  worry  about  her,  for  he 
could  not  be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that,  when  he  took  her  to 
lunch  at  Giro's,  or  to  dine  at  the  Restaurant  de  Paris,  on 
the  terrace  of  the  Casino  in  the  morning  hour,  or  the  in- 
evitable drive  to  Cap  Martin  in  the  afternoon,  she  was  the 
cynosure  of  all  eyes. 

Every  one  knew  their  story.  The  fame  of  her  dancing,  too, 
lost  nothing  in  the  telling,  and  her  reputation  took  a  differ- 
ent colour  from  every  breath  that  filmed  or  burnished  it. 

It  was  on  the  terrace  they  met  Colonel  Fellowes  and 
Lady  Dorothea,  met  them  in  a  way  that  made  some  sort  of 
recognition  unavoidable.  Lady  Dorothea  greeted  Kiddie 
with  outstretched  hand,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred : 

"  Hullo,  Kiddie !  my  congratulations." 

368 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Kiddie  rudely  ignored  her  hand,  and  would  have  passed 
on.  But  that  she  would  not  allow.  Seeing  which,  Colonel 
Fellowes  wisely  addressed  himself  to  Sally,  talking  amiable 
commonplaces,  whilst  the  others,  a  little  out  of  earshot, 
could  have  their  opportunity  for  mutual  recrimination. 

"  You  were  not  going  to  pass  without  saying  '  how  do 
you  do '  to  me,  were  you  ?  I'll  talk  to  your  wife  presently, 
she  is  quite  safe  with  Freddy.  What !  Still  angry  with 
me?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  How  silly  of  you !  Aren't  you  satisfied  ?  I  heard 
from  Hildegarde  you  were  simply  fatuous  about  her.  You 
know  you  owe  it  to  me  that  you  are  married,  you  ought 
to  be  awfully  grateful.  The  diplomatist  will  come  round 
in  no  time,  he  always  had  a  fancy  for  red-haired  coryphees ; 
and  you've  squared  your  mother  already,  I'm  told." 

"  It  was  a  foul,  unwomanly  trick."  He  reddened  as  he 
added,  "You  know  what  you  had  in  your  mind.  The 
result  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  How  could  I  tell  you  would  take  it  like  that  ?  A 
Verandah  Theatre  girl ! " 

But  she  did  not  want,  even  now,  to  quarrel  with  Kiddie. 
She  wanted  to  argue,  to  explain,  to  prove  her  righteousness 
of  motive.  "  You  must  not  forget  she  was  a  Verandah 
Theatre  girl  .  .  ."  she  urged. 

"  A  girl  whose  shoe-strings  you  are  not  fit  to  tie,"  he  was 
goaded  to  retort.  He  wanted  to  get  away ;  but  she  detained 
him,  arguing  her  point  of  view. 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Fellowes  had  heard  that  Sally  "could 
not  abide"  the  pigeon  shooting,  and  hated  the  rooms, 
where,  however,  she  had  been  only  once.  But  she  had 
bought  dresses  at  Beer's,  and  hats  at  Louis' ;  Kiddie  had 
hired  a  motor  and  taken  her  to  Nice,  and  she  thought  Nice 
was  awfully  gay,  a  little  like  Brighton. 
2B  369 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  It  will  take  Kiddie  all  he  knows  to  get  her  accepted," 
Colonel  Fellowes  said  afterwards  to  Dolly.  "  When  you've 
granted  her  figure  and  hair,  you've  said  all  you  can  in  her 
favour.  She  is  absolutely  the  crudest  thing  I've  ever 
met." 

And  Dolly,  moved  in  all  her  shallow  depths  to  anger 
against  her  cousin,  was  glad  that  it  should  be  so.  Perhaps 
Colonel  Fellowes  had  an  intuition  of  her  mental  attitude 
and  spoke  tactfully,  he  always  had  a  soothing  effect  upon 
her. 

Kiddie,  each  day's  intimacy  with  his  wife  showing  him 
more  clearly  the  transparency  of  her  motives  and  aims, 
grew  each  day  more  resentful  of  interested  glances,  and  light 
laughter,  of  the  superior  "  poor  old  Kiddie  "  air  that  his 
friends  affected  when  they  spoke  to  him,  of  the  whole 
atmosphere  in  which  this  marriage  of  his  seemed  to  be 
regarded.  He  had  more  than  one  passage  of  words  with 
his  sister.  All  his  sensitiveness  was  exposed ;  he  was  con- 
stantly being  jarred.  There  were  many  of  his  mother's 
acquaintances  in  Monte  Carlo  this  Easter.  And  in  Monte 
Carlo  one  meets  the  same  people  three  and  four  times  a  day. 
He  met  them  at  the  Villa,  on  the  Terrace,  at  Giro's,  every- 
where. And  within  a  week  he  had  more  or  less  offended 
them  all. 

His  mother  had  expressed  a  desire  to  see  Sarita,  but  a 
word  from  Hildegarde  had  provoked  his  obstinacy,  and  now 
he  said  that  since  his  father  had  refused  her  admittance, 
she  should  not  come  again  to  the  house  until  he  invited 
her  there  himself.  Lady  Fortive  could  not  fight  this  mood, 
she  knew  what  lay  beneath  it,  and  she  trusted  to  time. 
Meanwhile  she  tried  what  she  could,  with  gentle  counsel,  to 
harden  Kiddie's  attitude  toward  the  world. 

And  Sally,  whom  she  had  never  seen,  was,  nevertheless, 
on  her  side.  Sally  could  see  no  sneer,  detect  no  covert 

37° 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

insult,  when  this  or  the  other  introduction,  forced  upon  her 
unwilling  husband,  resulted  in  his  abruptly  taking  her 
away,  in  his  sudden  ill-temper  or  brusquerie. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?  I  don't  know  what  I 
ought  to  do  when  people  come  up  to  us,  you're  so  queer 
about  it.  Don't  you  want  me  to  know  your  friends  ?  " 

"I  want  them  to  treat  you  with  proper  respect,"  he 
answered.  "They'll  have  to  remember  you  are  Lady 
Kidderminster.  It  is  my  father's  fault,  and  Dolly's; 
they've  set  the  keynote.  .  .  ." 

But  in  truth  most  of  Kiddie's  grievances  were  imaginary. 
The  young  men  were  naturally  eager  for  the  acquaintance. 
Sally  was  looking  her  very  best  just  now ;  the  cocottes  and 
demi-mondaines,  the  stale  demi-vierges  and  old  stagers 
contrasted  hopelessly  with  her  eager  youth  and  astonishing 
freshness.  The  revealing  sun  showed  her  unflawed  white 
skin,  without  paint,  without  powder;  if  its  insistent 
presence  left  a  few  playful  freckles  as  visiting  cards,  it 
compensated  for  them  by  adding  scarlet  to  the  soft  child- 
lips,  and  gold  to  the  red  of  the  rebellious  hair.  All  the  new 
dresses  were  white,  Kiddie  had  insisted  upon  that,  and  all 
the  new  hats  were  black,  Sally's  good  taste  had  discovered 
the  value  of  the  juxtaposition.  Only  the  materials  and 
textures  varied.  In  white  cloth  and  ermine,  white  muslin 
with  Irish  lace,  white  cr&pe  de  Chine  with  silver  embroider- 
ies, and  always  the  black  picture  hats,  Lady  Kidderminster 
was  far  and  away  the  most  noticeable  figure  in  the  princi- 
pality. 

The  first  day  that  Lady  Fortive  was  able  to  leave  her 
room,  she  told  the  boy  she  would  call  upon  his  wife.  But 
this,  too,  Kiddy  negatived. 

"No,  it's  awfully  good  of  you,  and  I  know  all  that  it 
means ;  but  I  shan't  let  you  do  it  without  the  governor 
And  Hilda,  too,  will  have  to  climb  down.  I'm  not  going 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

to  have  Sarita  received  on  sufferance.  And  I  won't  let  her 
meet  Dolly.  .  .  ." 

"I  have  already  given  orders  that  Lady  Dorothea  is  not 
to  be  admitted.  I  am  quite  at  one  with  you  as  to  her 
conduct." 

Incidentally  it  may  be  noted  that  this  was  the  beginning 
of  the  end,  as  far  as  Lady  Dorothea's  social  career  was 
concerned.  It  was  intimated  to  her  that  very  season  that 
she  was  not  expected  to  attend  a  Court.  She  sank  gradually 
into  a  quagmire  of  middle-class  acquaintances,  whose  posi- 
tion left  them  ignorant  that  her  vices  were  her  own,  and 
not  those  of  a  class  whom  she  had  ceased  to  represent. 

Lady  Fortive  told  Kiddie  that  she  had  heard  from  his 
father,  and,  in  calling  upon  Sarita,  she  would  be  acting  in 
accordance  with  his  wishes.  Lord  Fortive  had  known 
where  to  put  through  his  inquiries  respecting  his  undesirable 
daughter-in-law,  and  had  learnt  that  there  was  nothing  to 
be  said  against  her.  She  was  too  young  to  have  had  a  past, 
and  it  was  true  that  Kiddie  had  been  her  protector  since 
she  had  been  seen  upon  the  boards. 

"  If  she  is  in  any  way  possible,"  he  wrote,  "  we  will  carry 
out  your  suggestion.  If  you  feel  yourself  able  to  present 
her  at  the  first  Court,  the  rest  will  follow.  It  is  a  bitter 
disappointment,  of  course.  But  Hildegarde's  alliance,  with 
which  we  were  so  gratified,  has  not  turned  out  an  unmiti- 
gated success.  Gilbert's  marriage  may  not  prove  an  unmiti- 
gated failure.  From  what  you  tell  me,  it  appears  already 
to  have  made  something  more  of  a  man  of  him.  I  hear 
there  will  be  a  vacancy  shortly  at  Mailing ;  you  might 
sound  him  as  to  his  views.  .  .  ." 

The  letter  went  on  to  adjure  her  to  take  care  of  her 
health,  and  to  give  her  the  welcome  news  that  he  would  be 
free  to  return  by  the  end  of  the  week. 

Lady  Fortive  and  Hildegarde  called  upon  Lady  Kidder- 

372 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

minster  in  state,  taking  pains  that  the  whole  of  Monte 
Carlo  should  know,  not  only  of  the  intention,  but  of  the 
execution.  It  made  no  difference  that  only  cards  were  left. 
Lady  Fortive  had  not  announced  her  visit  to  Kiddie,  and 
the  young  people  were  out. 

Sally  came  back  to  the  hotel  alone.  Gilbert,  in  an  after- 
luncheon  mood,  had  gone  into  the  rooms  for  half  an  hour. 
Meanwhile  Sally  was  to  have  dressed  for  a  motor  ride. 
She  found  the  magic  pieces  of  pasteboard  upon  the  table. 

"  Oh !  that's  good  of  her !  She's  come  to  see  me  after 
all !  Gilbert  will  be  pleased.  I'll  go  round  and  thank  her," 
she  exclaimed. 

Sally  had  not  completely  understood  the  etiquette  that 
kept  her  from  the  Villa.  Gilbert  had  said  that  he  would 
not  allow  her  to  go  there  until  Lady  Fortive  had  called 
upon  her.  Impulsive  Sally  was  so  glad  the  prohibition 
must  now  be  removed,  she  did  not  pause  to  consider  what 
further  formalities  should  be  observed.  She  snatched  up 
the  gloves  and  parasol  she  had  discarded,  she  did  not  even 
wait  to  readjust  her  hat,  or  hair,  to  change  her  white  linen 
for  an  afternoon  dress. 

"  I'll  show  her  I  don't  bear  malice  because  they  wouldn't 
let  me  in  when  we  first  came.  I'll  go  round  at  once  and 
thank  her,"  was  in  the  girl's  mind,  as  she  went  down  the 
big  broad  stairs  of  the  hotel,  two  steps  at  a  time,  across 
the  sunlit  gardens,  and  away  to  the  Villa. 

This  time  the  gates  stood  open,  Lady  Fortive's  carriage 
having  not  long  gone  through.  There  were  voices  echoing 
through  the  palms,  with  a  flutter  of  skirts  and  femininity. 

There  had  been  a  luncheon-party  at  the  Villa  —  Lady 
Avon  and  the  Astoraths,  Lord  Northbury  and  Victor  Herold. 
They  were  all  on  the  verandah ;  fortunately  Lady  Fortive 
was  there  too,  on  her  couch.  She  had  not  joined  them  at 
lunch,  but  they  had  come  out  to  her  when  they  had  fin- 

373 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

ished.  No  one  guessed  who  it  was  hurrying  up  the  garden ; 
Hildegarde  and  Lady  Fortive  failed  to  recognize  her,  look- 
ing at  each  other  with  puzzled  eyes. 

"  An  unexpected  guest  .  .  .  ? " 

But  Sally  left  them  no  time  for  conjecture.  She  came 
up  in  the  swiftness  of  her  young  grace  and  made  straight 
for  the  couch : 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come  and  see  me.  It  was  horrid 
our  being  out.  I've  wanted  to  come  to  you  all  the  time, 
but  Gilbert  wouldn't  let  me,"  she  began  breathlessly. 

Lady  Fortive  went  a  little  pale ;  her  heart  seemed  about 
to  play  her  an  unkind  trick. 

"Get  brandy,  she  has  startled  my  mother,"  Hilda  said 
quickly,  coming  through  the  group  of  her  amused  friends. 
"  My  mother  is  not  well,  .  .  ."  she  began,  stiffly,  to  Sarita, 
who  remained  standing. 

"Quite  well  enough  to  welcome  my  dear  daughter-in- 
law,"  Lady  Fortive  found  strength  to  say,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  Sally.  Sally  took  it : 

"  You  do  look  bad,"  she  said.     And  some  one  tittered. 

The  titter  was  as  effective  as  the  delayed  brandy. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  the  invalid  answered,  with  a  white  smile,  "  then 
you  must  sit  down  beside  me,  and  talk  to  me  until  I  am 
better.  Is  Gilbert  with  you?" 

"No!  I  didn't  wait  till  he  got  back.  When  I  saw  your 
cards,  I  came  as  quick  as  I  could.  I've  wanted  to  come  all 
the  time." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  some  one,  under  her  breath. 

"  And  I  have  wanted  you  to  come,"  answered  her  mother- 
in-law.  "  I  wanted  to  see  my  son's  wife." 

The  girl  was  so  much  younger  in  her  ways  than  she  had 
expected,  so  unaffected,  untheatrical,  genuinely  simple,  and 
interested  in  Kiddie's  mother  because  she  was  that,  and 
not  because  she  was  the  Marchioness  of  Fortive,  that  her 

374 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

heart  went  out  to  her.  Sally  needed  protection,  too,  one 
could  see  that  instantly ;  her  ways,  mode  of  speech  and 
thought,  were  different  from  theirs. 

"May  I  really  sit  here  and  talk  to  you?  Don't  the 
others  want  this  seat  ? "  She  had  taken  the  one  by  the 
couch ;  Lady  Fortive  had  indicated  she  was  to  do  so. 

"I  am  sorry  you're  looking  so  bad,"  she  went  on. 
"  Gilbert  said  you  were  ever  so  much  better !  He  does 
worry  so  about  being  with  both  of  us.  He  hates  not  being 
able  to  sit  with  you,  without  leaving  me  alone.  I  don't 
mind  being  alone  a  bit ;  although,"  she  added  candidly,  as 
an  afterthought,  but  Sally  had  to  be  quite  candid,  until 
she  had  learnt  better  —  "  of  course,  it's  a  change  not  having 
anything  to  do.  I  don't  like  that." 

"  Don't  you  play  trente-et-quarante  ? "  asked  Lord  North- 
bury,  disengaging  himself  from  the  women,  equally  curious 
but  less  tactful.  He  was  a  well-known  habitue  of  Monte 
Carlo,  tall  and  stooping,  brown-bearded  and  bright-eyed. 
He  had  lost  three  fortunes  gambling,  but  still  appreciated 
the  existence  of  other  goddesses,  of  whom  this  slim,  red- 
haired  girl  was  surely  one.  "Damned  lucky  young  cub, 
our  Cousin  Kiddie,"  he  said  sotto  voce,  to  Victor  Herold, 
who  was  beside  him.  They  had  both  caught  Sally's  words, 
her  complaint  of  having  nothing  to  do. 

"You  should  play  trente-et-quarante,"  Lord  Northbury 
said  to  Sally,  looking  at  her  appreciatively.  "  I  heard  you 
complaining  about  having  nothing  to  do  here,  didn't  I  ? 
Of  course,  they  ought  to  lay  out  a  golf  course.  .  .  ." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  been  introduced  to  my  daugh- 
ter-in-law," Lady  Fortive  interposed,  with  gentle  formality. 
"  My  dear,  may  I  present  our  cousins,  Lord  Northbury,  Mr. 
Victor  Herold." 

From  the  first  Lady  Fortive  would  insist  upon  Sarita's 
dignity  being  observed ;  she  supported  Gilbert  in  his  point 

375 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

of  view.  But  it  was  not  always  easy  to  show  Sarita  where 
that  same  dignity  was  being  assailed.  She  answered  Lord 
Northbury  quite  easily,  and  would  have  done  so  with  or 
without  the  introduction : 

"  No,  I  don't  play  cards ;  it's  so  stuffy  in  the  Casino,  too. 
I  don't  play  golf  neither.  I  like  the  gardens,  and  looking 
at  the  sea."  She  was  not  in  the  least  shy,  and  she  was 
pleased  Gilbert's  mother  had  said  "  my  dear  "  to  her.  She 
broke  into  a  dazzling  laugh : 

"Not  that  I  ought  to  be  fond  of  the  sea,  for  it  don't  agree 
with  me  when  I'm  on  it." 

"  Ah !  but  that  is  the  Channel,  this  is  the  Mediterranean," 
Victor  said  familiarly.  He  knew  the  type,  or  flattered  him- 
self that  he  did.  He  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life 
pursuing  adventures  with  demi-mondaines ;  he  spoke  as  he 
would  to  one  of  these. 

Sally  looked  at  him;  he  was  good-looking  in  a  pallid, 
well-groomed  way,  but  she  thought  she  liked  his  brother 
best. 

"  Is  it  ?  I  thought  it  was  all  the  same,"  she  answered, 
smiling  again.  "  Here's  your  brandy.  .  .  ." 

She  darted  at  the  butler  who  was  bringing  it,  carefully, 
on  a  silver  tray.  She  took  it  from  him  and  brought  it 
without  spilling,  although  the  liqueur-glass  was  full.  Lady 
Fortive  drank  the  brandy;  she  needed  it  badly.  Giving 
back  the  glass  with  a  smile,  she  said  to  Sally  — 

"  Thank  you,  it  was  very  good  of  you  to  fetch  it.  These 
Italian  servants  are  so  slow." 

"Oh!  I  like  doing  things  for  you.  Let  me  come  and 
stay,  and  help  nurse  you.  I'll  be  as  quiet  as  quiet ;  noth- 
ing tires  me.  I  should  love  to  serve  you,  .  .  ."  she  said 
impetuously. 

She  had  no  motive,  no  arri&re  penste,  as  she  stooped  over 
the  couch  and  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  come  and  stay 

376 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

The  two  men,  watching  her  with  admiring  eyes,  thought 
she  was  amazingly  clever.  But,  in  truth,  she  forgot  they 
were  there,  and  she  was  not  clever  at  all.  She  had  only 
fallen  in  love  with  Gilbert's  mother,  this  poor,  grey  lady, 
with  Kiddie's  eyes  and  voice,  and  such  gentle  ways  and 
smile ;  she  was  only  moved  to  sorrow  for  her,  because  she 
seemed  so  frail,  and  had  to  lie  on  a  couch.  She  loved  the 
veined  hands  with  their  heavy  rings,  the  lace  that  draped 
her  shoulders,  and  the  large  bonnet.  Mr.  Perry  might  not 
have  approved  the  toilette,  it  was  a  little  old-fashioned,  a 
little  dowdy,  but  Sarita  scented  the  lavender  about  it,  and 
loved  it  unconsciously  for  all  it  exemplified. 

"  Do  you  think  I  may  help  to  nurse  you  ?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  nurse  me,  instead  ?"  Lord  North- 
bury  interposed.  He  was  a  chartered  libertine,  and  even  Lady 
Fortive's  presence  could  not  repress  his  desire  to  make  Sally 
talk  to  him,  and  smile  at  him  again. 

"Not  a  bit."  He  got  his  smile.  "I  wish  you  would 
go  away.  I'm  sure  she  would  rather  be  alone,  wouldn't 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  would,  and  I  will  take  charge  of  you. 
I  see  you  don't  like  Victor.  We  will  leave  him  with  the 
invalid  ;  he  is  a  splendid  nurse,  notorious  for  his  gentleness 
with  women.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  no,  cousin,  I  am  just  the  person  to  go  round  the 
garden  with  you.  I'm  fond  of  flowers,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  Jack  here  is  a  mere  ruffian  compared  to  me." 

"  Don't  you  believe  him,  Lady  Kidderminster.  I'm  a 
preux  chevalier,  a  Bayard  ..." 

Lady  Fortive  had  been  revived  by  the  stimulant : 

"  The  child  hardly  understands  your  irresponsible  chatter, 
Jack,  Victor.  But  she  is  quite  right ;  you  are  rather  too 
much  for  me,  just  yet !  Will  you  call  Mary,"  she  asked. 
"  I  think  my  drive  has  rather  over-tired  me." 

377 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

Whilst  she  was  waiting  for  the  maid  she  kept  the  conver- 
sation in  her  own  hands.  She  recognized  the  note  that 
infuriated  Gilbert.  When  at  length  the  maid  came  out  with 
the  footman  to  help  wheel  the  couch,  she  noted  Sarita's 
wistful  face. 

"You  do  not  wish  to  stay  and  listen  to  Jack's  nonsense, 
do  you  ?  Come  in  with  me,  out  of  the  sun." 

Sally  followed  her  gladly.  She  did  not  want  to  talk  to 
Lord  Northbury,  or  to  Victor  Herold ;  she  wanted  to  talk 
to  Gilbert's  mother.  Her  desire  to  be  of  use  was  strong,  but 
it  seemed  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do. 

The  couch  was  wheeled  through  the  window  into  the 
dining-room  —  it  was  on  large  wheels  and  moved  easily  — 
then  the  carrying  chair  was  brought  in  by  the  men.  The 
maid  helped  Lady  Fortive  from  one  to  the  other ;  there  was 
nothing  in  which  Sally  could  help. 

"  I  could  lift  you  up  and  carry  you  in  my  arms,"  she  said, 
"  as  easy  as  easy,  like  a  baby.  I  should  think  you'd  be 
more  comfortable  than  in  that  thing." 

"  You  follow,  and  see  how  carefully  they  take  me." 

If  Lady  Fortive,  less  impetuous,  had  not  fallen  in  love 
with  her  daughter-in-law,  she  was  undoubtedly  touched  by 
what  she  could  see  was  the  very  genuine  pity  for  her  weak- 
ness that  Sally  showed.  It  was  unusual.  It  was  rather 
charming  of  this  girl  to  seem  to  care.  Lady  Fortive's  in- 
validism  had  lasted  for  so  many  years  that  it  was  taken  as 
a  matter  of  course  by  her  friends. 

Sally  followed  to  the  bedroom,  and  stood  by  whilst  the 
bonnet  and  wraps  were  taken  off. 

"  I  won't  go  back  to  bed  just  yet,"  Lady  Fortive  told  the 
maid.  "  I  will  sit  in  the  easy  chair  by  the  window.  You 
need  not  wait ;  Lady  Kidderminster  will  stay  with  me." 
She  smiled  at  Sally :  "  You  will  get  me  anything  I  may 
want,  won't  you  ?  " 

378 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"  Rather,  I  should  think  I  would,"  Sally  answered  grate- 
fully. "May  I  sit  here,  on  this  footstool  at  your  feet? 
Then  I  can  take  them  on  my  lap  and  warm  them  if  they 
get  cold.  My  feet  used  to  get  awfully  cold  after  I  broke 
my  leg,  when  I  couldn't  get  about." 

"  Sit  by  my  side  instead.  I  want  to  look  at  my  new 
daughter-in-law." 

Sally  faced  her,  standing : 

"This  isn't  my  best  dress,  I  didn't  stop  to  change." 
Then  she  sank  down  on  her  knees,  quite  naturally. 

"  You  will  try  and  like  me,  won't  you  ?  Gilbert  wants 
it  so  badly.  He  didn't  ought  to  have  married  me  without 
asking  you ;  he'd  give  anything  if  you  could  get  to  like  me." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  find  it  difficult."  She  laid  a  feeble 
hand  on  the  bright  hair,  and  it  was  soft  under  her  hand. 

"  I'm  not  good  enough  for  you ;  nor  for  him,  for  the 
matter  of  that  ..."  Sally  began. 

"  Tell  me  only  one  thing.  Do  you  love  him  ?  Do  you 
truly  love  my  son  ?  "  she  asked.  Gilbert  needed  lave  ;  she 
felt  very  weak,  very  feeble,  as  if  her  own  must  leave  him 
soon. 

Sally's  head  went  down,  on  to  Lady  Fortive's  lap.  Not 
even  to  herself  had  she  voiced  all  she  felt ;  it  was  difficult, 
and  the  words  would  not  come. 

"I'd  die,"  she  said  slowly,  with  her  face  hidden,  her 
voice  muffled.  "I'd  die  to  save  him  one  moment's  pain. 
I'd  go  away  now,  this  moment,  if  he  wanted  me  to,  or  if  it 
was  best  for  him.  I  can't  —  I  can't  quite  tell  you  what  I 
feel  about  him,  it  is  too  big,  it  seems  to  grow  and  grow. 
And  now  ..."  her  head  went  lower,  the  blush  that  she  hid 
overspread  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  she  was  alone  with 
Gilbert's  mother,  and  she  would  let  her  see  into  her  heart, 
"  now  that  we  are  married,  and  I  am  one  with  him,  I'm  so 
proud  .  .  .  and  so  humble  .  .  ." 

379 


THE    HEART   OF   A    CHILD 

It  was  too  difficult,  she  could  not  explain ;  marriage  had 
brought  her  new  emotion,  new  development.  She  was 
proud,  she  was  humble,  the  very  essence  of  her  had  gone 
out  to  him,  in  love. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  indeed,  indeed  I  love  him,"  she  repeated,  be- 
low her  breath,  her  face  still  hidden. 

That  is  the  way  Kiddie  found  them  when  he  rushed  in. 
He  had  guessed  where  Sarita  had  gone  when  he  had  found 
the  cards  on  the  table,  and  the  room  empty. 

"  Isn't  she  a  darling  ?  "  he  cried  triumphantly. 

Sally  jumped  to  her  feet  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  but 
there  was  quick  pleading  in  her  eyes  when  they  met  Gil- 
bert's mother's.  They  seemed  to  say,  "  Don't  tell  him  I'm 
not." 

"  Indeed,  she  is,"  said  Lady  Fortive,  and  drew  the  girl  to 
her  again,  kissing  her,  "  indeed,  she  is." 

Lady  Fortive's  suffrages  were  won  with  comparative 
ease.  Sally's  simplicity  of  diction,  unworldliness,  ignorance 
of  common  things,  were  as  a  gossamer  veil  beyond  which 
shone  her  single-heartedness,  and,  like  a  cut  diamond  in  the 
translucency  of  it,  her  love  for  Gilbert. 

Lord  Fortive's  vote  was  secured  differently. 

He  was  due  home  on  the  twenty-seventh.  Lady  Fortive 
and  her  son,  in  consultation,  agreed  that  it  was  well  he 
should  see  Sarita  for  the  first  time  at  her  very  best !  And 
Sally's  "  very  best "  was  decided  to  be  in  evening  toilette, 
her  amazing  hair  parted  in  the  middle,  dressed  loosely  and 
simply  in  a  Greek  coil.  The  dress  was  to  be  of  white 
cr£pe  de  Chine,  defining  her  slender  figure.  Lady  Fortive 
would  lend  the  famous  rope  of  pearls ;  they  were  heirlooms, 
and  both  Kiddie  and  his  mother  thought  they  could  never 
have  graced  a  fairer  neck. 

Everything  was  arranged,  the  dress  ordered  from  Paris, 
the  pearls  tried  on,  the  hairdresser  secured,  a  select  little 

380 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

company  invited,  and  the  dinner  menu  passed.  It  had 
been  difficult  to  get  Kiddie  to  forget  what  his  father  had 
said,  but  it  had  not  proved  impossible.  Nevertheless,  Lady 
Fortive  thought  they  should  meet  in  company,  that  Lord 
Fortive  should  correct  his  impressions  of  his  daughter-in- 
law  before  he  and  Gilbert  had  any  conversation.  She  had 
an  intuition  that  Sarita  would  make  an  immediate  conquest, 
and  that  Gilbert  in  his  pride,  seeing  it,  would  forget  the 
untoward  speeches,  made,  as  she  always  reminded  the  boy, 
in  complete  ignorance  of  the  circumstances.  They  had  been 
directed  toward  an  unknown  personality,  not  Sarita. 

But  Sally  upset  all  their  calculations  and  rendered 
abortive  all  their  plans.  On  the  twenty-fifth  she  had  a 
letter  from  Mary  reminding  her  that  the  wedding  was  on 
the  twenty-seventh,  that  she  and  Alf  were  longing  to  see 
her,  that  she  had  promised  to  come,  and  must  not  disap- 
point them ! 

"  It  won't  be  so  grand  an  affair  as  you  had,  but  Mrs. 
Stevens  is  spreading  herself  out  on  it ;  we're  going  straight 
on  there,  and  she  has  asked  a  lot  of  people,  Alf  says.  She 
thinks  it  will  be  good  for  the  customers  to  know  that '  Lady 
Kidderminster'  is  one  of  her  son's  wedding  guests.  Of 
course,  that's  not  what  me  and  Alf  care  about,  but  we 
always  promised  to  be  at  each  other's  weddings.  I  don't 
believe  you've  grown  too  grand.  .  .  ." 

Sarita,  receiving  this  epistle,  in  the  early  morning ;  there 
was  a  great  deal  more  of  it,  by  the  way  ;  put  down  her  un- 
tasted  cup  of  coffee,  and  looked  at  her  husband : 

"  Lord,  now,"  she  said,  "  if  I  haven't  gone  and  done  it. 
Here's  my  new  dress  all  wasted,  and  I  can't  be  at  that 
dinner-party  after  all !  " 

"  What's  up  ?  "  Kiddie  asked  calmly,  buttering  his  toast. 
u  What  has  happened  ?  Miss  Rugeley  ill  ?  " 

"  Not  she  ;  she  is  as  hard  as  nails." 

381 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

In  a  general  way,  Sally  admired  good  health,  and  this 
was  meant  as  a  loyal  tribute  to  her  friend. 

"No,  it's  nothing  about  Miss  Rugeley,  it's  from  Mary. 
She  and  Alf  are  going  to  be  married  on  Thursday,  and  I've 
promised  to  go.  I'd  clean  forgotten  it.  And  the  dinner  is 
on  Wednesday ;  what  a  pity  your  father  couldn't  have 
come  a  day  or  two  earlier." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pity.  But  Mary  and  Alf  might  have  sent 
round  to  the  Foreign  Office  and  announced  their  wedding ; 
then  they'd  have  let  him  off." 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,  I  know,  but  I  do  think  it  a 
pity ;  he  might  have  come  to-day.  Now  I've  got  to  miss 
seeing  him,  and  everything." 

"Don't  be  a  little  idiot." 

"  Aren't  you  disappointed  ?  " 

"  What  about  ?  " 

"  About  me  not  being  there,  and  the  dress,  and  the  pearls 
she  was  going  to  lend  me,  and  everything." 

"Not  a  bit." 

"  You  are  unkind." 

"  You  don't  really  suppose  I'm  going  to  let  you  race  over 
to  England  to  be  at  Alf  and  Mary's  wedding  !  '  Alf  '  was 
the  gentleman  in  the  red  jersey,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  that  was  Johnny  Doone ;  Alf  was  at  the 
factory,  you  know  Alf  and  Mary  —  Mary  Murray.  She 
was  my  very  best  friend,  I  always  promised  to  be  at  her 
wedding,  I  can't  go  back  on  her." 

"You'll  jolly  well  have  to;  you  are  talking  through  your 
hat.  You  know  how  important  it  is  about  my  father." 

"  I  can  meet  him  any  time."  Then  she  smiled.  "  He 
wasn't  so  anxious  about  meeting  me  when  he  got  the 
chance  !  I  must  go  to  Mary's  wedding,  anyhow." 

It  was  the  first  approach  they  had  had  to  a  difference  of 
opinion,  although  their  wedding  day  was  three  weeks  old. 

382 


THE    HEART    OF   A    CHILD 

Gilbert  met  her  at  first  with  ridicule,  then  with  incredulity, 
finally  with  exasperation.  Sally  stuck  to  her  guns ;  a 
promise  was  a  promise,  and  she  had  promised  to  be  at 
Mary's  wedding. 

"  You  seem  to  have  no  sense  of  your  position,"  he  said 
to  her  at  last,  besides  one  or  two  other  hard  things. 

The  guests  had  been  invited,  and  had  accepted;  there 
was  some  excuse  for  Gilbert's  temper.  His  mother  was 
making  the  effort  to  please  him,  she  was  hardly  fit  to  enter- 
tain. The  whole  plan  of  campaign  had  been  made  for 
Sarita's  formal  introduction  to  what  relatives  there  were  in 
Monte  Carlo,  and,  above  all,  to  her  father-in-law. 

When  Gilbert  had  said  all  the  harsh  things  that  his 
exasperation  prompted,  he  flung  himself  out  of  the  room, 
completely  baffled  by  Sally's  inability  to  see  how  abso- 
lutely impossible  was  this  scheme  upon  which  she  had 
set  her  heart.  He  went  over  to  consult  his  mother  in  the 
emergency : 

"  You'll  go  by  yourself  if  you  go  at  all,"  were  his  last  words. 

And  Sally,  fully  believing  he  meant  them,  desperately 
unhappy,  but  quite  sure  she  must  keep  her  word  to  Mary, 
began  to  pack  her  box.  A  few  tears  may  have  been  packed 
along  with  those  new  dresses,  although  tears  had  not  been 
Sally's  way : 

"Eight's  right,  whether  I'm  Lady  Kidderminster  or 
Sally  Snape,  and  it  can't  be  right  to  break  my  given  word 
to  Mary,"  she  said  to  herself  convincingly.  But,  however 
conscious  she  was  of  rectitude,  she  knew  she  hated  vexing 
Gilbert  and  disappointing  his  mother,  and  not  wearing  the 
pearls,  and  everything.  The  tears  dropped  into  the  trunk, 
and  her  eyelids  grew  red  and  swollen. .  She  looked  her 
very  worst  when  she  put  on  her  travelling  things,  they 
were  the  same  in  which  she  had  made  that  eventful  first 
journey  to  Paris,  and  went  out  to  secure  her  ticket. 

383 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

She  did  not  mean  to  say  good-bye  to  anybody.  If  Gilbert 
did  not  come  home  before  the  afternoon  train  went,  then 
she  would  leave  him  a  note.  She  would  tell  him  she  would 
not  stay  away  a  moment  longer  than  she  need,  she  would 
sign  herself  "your  very  loving  wife."  She  was  his  very 
loving  wife ;  she  could  not  keep  the  tears  from  welling  up 
at  the  thought  he  was  angry  with  her,  and  that  she  was 
going  back  to  England  without  him. 

Smith's  Bank  is  almost  next  door  to  the  International 
Sleeping  Car  Company,  where  she  knew  tickets  were  to  be 
bought.  Her  self-absorption  prevented  her  seeing  Victor 
Herold  standing  at  the  door;  she  did  not  recognize  the 
tall,  distinguished-looking  man,  in  grey  felt  hat  and  travel- 
ling tweeds,  who  was  talking  to  him. 

"  They  don't  expect  me  until  to-morrow,"  Lord  Fortive 
was  saying,  "  I  got  away  sooner  than  I  expected.  I  have 
brought  Bystairs  back  with  me ;  he  has  gone  up  to  prepare 
them." 

"  You  got  all  you  wanted  at  the  bank  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks." 

Victor  caught  sight  of  Lady  Kidderminster.  She  seemed 
a  little  uncertain  of  her  way.  The  clerk  at  the  bureau 
was  a  Frenchman,  and  Sally  found  it  difficult  to  make  him 
understand  what  she  wanted. 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  use  ?  "  he  asked  her.  And  Lord  Fortive 
wondered  who  the  good-looking  girl  might  be  to  whom 
Victor  was  so  attentive. 

He  asked  him,  lightly,  when  he  came  back  from  trans- 
lating Sally's  requirements.  Victor  had  been  too  discreet  to 
inquire  why  Lady  Kidderminster  was  suddenly  returning 
to  England,  why  she  was  alone,  and  her  eyes  so  red  !  But 
he  was  full  of  curiosity. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  don't  know  who  she  is  ?  " 
he  exclaimed. 

384 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

"No,  but  I  congratulate  you  on  your  good  taste." 

" My  good  taste!  Kiddie's,  you  mean.  It  is  your 
daughter-in-law." 

"No!" 

"  That  is  Lady  Kidderminster ;  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it." 

"  Why,  she  is  a  mere  child  ! " 

Sally  was  waiting  for  her  ticket,  she  looked  and  felt 
forlorn.  She  had  had  to  accept  Mr.  Herold's  help,  for  she 
could  not  get  the  French  clerk  to  understand  what  she 
wanted,  but  she  hated  his  manner,  and  his  calling  her 
"  cousin,"  and  the  curiosity  she  saw  in  his  eyes.  Yet  here 
he  was  by  her  side  again. 

"  May  I  introduce  ..."  he  began. 

"  Thanks,  Victor,  but  I  will  introduce  myself." 

Sally  turned  her  back  to  them,  she  did  not  want  to  be 
introduced  to  anybody,  she  knew  Gilbert  would  not  wish 
her  to  be  here  alone,  to  be  seen  here  alone.  Victor  laughed, 
but  the  other  man  came  nearer  to  her,  making  her  look 
round  at  him,  as  he  took  off  his  hat: 

"I  think  you  will  allow  me  to  introduce  myself,"  he 
said  to  her. 

Sally's  intelligence  was  so  seldom  at  fault;  the  smile, 
the  voice,  intuition,  told  her. 

"I  do  believe,"  she  exclaimed,  and  even  her  red  eyes 
could  not  spoil  the  look  she  gave  him.  Smiles  came  all  at 
once,  and  a  weight  of  care  seemed  lifted  from  her  shoulders. 

"  I  do  believe  you're  Gilbert's  father !  And  you've  come 
in  time,  after  all."  She  heaved  quite  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  It 
is  you,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  I  am  Lord  Fortive.     How  did  you  guess  ?  " 

She  put  out  both  hands  to  him. 

"Oh,  I'm  glad,  I  am  glad.     Gilbert  was  angry  at  my 
going  away  without  seeing  you,  but  I  had  to  go." 
20  385 


THE    HEART    OF   A   CHILD 

Lord  Fortive  was  no  Stoic;  he  liked  her  gladness  in 
recognizing  him,  and  the  difference  between  her  manner  to 
him  and  her  manner  to  Victor.  He  liked — for  who  could 
help  liking  ?  —  Sally's  smile,  the  small  hands  he  still  held 
in  his,  the  way  her  head  was  set  upon  her  shoulders,  the 
slim  figure,  and,  yes,  he  was  not  quite  sure  at  first,  but  he 
grew  sure  as  he  looked,  he  liked  her  red  hair. 

"  And  why  were  you  running  away  ?  Why  were  you 
going  without  seeing  me  ?  What  is  the  trouble  ?  " 

As  Lord  Fortive  was  saying  to  himself,  if  they  were  going 
to  recognize  the  marriage,  and  do  their  best  to  get  Gilbert's 
wife  accepted,  there  was  no  sort  of  use  in  stumbling  over 
the  preliminaries.  He  came  very  definitely  to  this  opinion 
as  he  stood  just  inside  the  shady  and  cool  International 
Sleeping  Car  Office  and  listened  to  this  exceedingly  attrac- 
tive young  woman,  whom  he  had  just  heard  was  his 
daughter-in-law. 

He  took  the  encounter  lightly  at  first ;  it  was  amusing 
that  he  should  have  met  her  like  this.  He  would  have 
kept  the  conversation  at  a  surface  level,  if  Sarita  had  let 
him.  He  suggested  that  if  she  and  Gilbert  had  had  a  dif- 
ference of  opinion,  he  might  act  as  intermediary.  He  was 
even  willing  to  include  Victor  in  a  little  banter ;  he  sug- 
gested they  should  all  walk  up  to  the  Villa  together  and 
surprise  the  family. 

But  it  was  all  too  serious  for  chaff  as  far  as  Sally  was 
concerned.  She  excluded  Victor  from  her  talk,  which  was 
all  directed  to  Lord  Fortive.  If  only  she  could  make  him 
say  she  was  right ! 

The  force  of  her  personality  won  her  the  t&te-drt&te  she 
wanted.  She  found  herself  walking  up  the  gardens  alone 
with  Kiddie's  father,  pouring  out  her  trouble  to  him : 

"  I  know  Gilbert  was  right  in  not  wanting  to  disappoint 
you  again,  and  Lady  Fortive,  who  has  been  so  awfully 

386 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

good  to  me.  But  what  was  I  to  do,  seeing  that  I'd  promised 
Mary  .  .  .  ?" 

Lord  Fortive  listened,  sometimes  as  he  listened  he 
looked.  Her  colour  oame  and  went  in  her  distress  and 
earnestness,  and  her  sweet  lips  quivered.  It  was  so  hard 
to  go  "  contrary "  to  Gilbert ;  it  was  so  impossible  to 
break  her  promise  to  Mary ;  her  eyes  appealed  to  him  for 
judgment.  The  walk  was  all  too  short. 

As  Lord  Fortive  said  afterwards,  and  really  he  only 
repeated  Kiddie's  words : 

"It  is  her  character  that  counts.  She  has  a  man's 
sense  of  honour,  coupled  with  a  child's  unconsciousness  of 
expediency :  the  boy  has  not  been  such  a  fool  as  I  thought. 
We  must  do  the  best  we  can  for  them.  I  think  well  of  her 
that  she  was  not  to  be  moved  from  her  promise  to  her  old 
friend  Mary.  They  will  be  back  at  the  end  of  the  week, 
and  we  will  have  that  dinner-party  then." 

For  Kiddie  did  actually  take  Sarita  to  England  in  time 
for  the  wedding,  and  at  his  father's  request !  It  is  even 
now  historical  in  Camden  Town  how  Lord  and  Lady 
Kidderminster  came  to  the  wedding  of  Alf  Stevens,  son  of 
that  Mrs.  Stevens  who  kept  the  chandler's  shop,  and  how 
his  lordship  made  a  speech,  and  said  he  hoped  he  would  be 
invited  there  again,  for  he'd  never  sat  down  to  a  finer 
feast,  nor  had  a  heartier  welcome. 

It  is  all  historical  now.  For  Lord  and  Lady  Kidder- 
minster are  prominent  in  society  at  the  moment,  and  the 
history  of  the  marriage  is  told  with  a  thousand  variations. 
But  in  all  essentials  it  is  just  as  I  have  set  it  down,  neither 
more  complicated  nor  more  simple. 

The  Fortives,  according  to  their  friends,  made  the  best 
of  a  bad  business.  The  public  could  not  be  expected  to 
know  that  within  a  year,  when  Kiddie  won  the  Mailing  seat, 
and  had  made  his  maiden  speech  in  the  House,  when  Sally 

387 


THE    HEART   OF   A   CHILD 

proved  her  quality,  and  they  had  learnt  to  know  her,  the 
Fortives  had  already  begun  to  think  that  the  marriage  was 
anything  but  a  bad  business. 

They  had  taken  the  young  couple  under  their  protection, 
and  created  a  background  for  them.  It  was  a  background 
Sally  Snape  had  always  needed ;  her  outlines  were  too  sharp 
and  clearly  denned,  the  whole  picture  of  her  was  Pre- 
Raphaelitish  in  its  decorative  simplicity.  But  the  con- 
noisseurs, who  know  the  aims  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites, 
recognize  the  qualities  in  young  Lady  Kidderminster  that 
underlie  all  fine  art  —  truth  and  simplicity.  She  has  her 
critics,  of  course,  and  possibly  they  will  be  justified  in  their 
criticisms.  Nevertheless,  they  leave  untouched  that  which 
lies  at  the  core  of  her,  sound  and  sweet. 


388 


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